Star Wars: A Look From Above
by Dunstin
Summary: Series of one and/or two-shots from viewpoints of various leading Imperials showing the evolution of the Empire over its lifespan. Mainly just solo character analysis at key points in Star Wars history. Will cover character likes Piett, Thrawn, Tagge, Gallius Rax, and many more. Follows canon timeline.
1. Introduction

**Quick explanation of what I'm attempting to write. This is a small project I had been thinking of for a little while, finally bringing it to reality. Basically, I'll be doing small one-shots, maybe two parters if I feel it's necessary, on famous Imperials throughout the Star Wars Canon Universe, from people like General Veers in Episode V to Admiral Konstantine in Star Wars Rebels. Their viewpoints will come chronologically, detailing the progression and lifestyle of the Empire, from birth to its fall. The tyranny of the Empire has always been one of my favorite things in all of fiction, and some of its characters also very intriguing and exhilarating to me.**

 **This'll be a pretty brief writing, with maybe 10-12 passages no more than 2k words each. I'll pump one out more or less everyday until its finished. After that, I'll return to writing my "Dim Star" Novel.**

 **All I gotta say. Hope you enjoy.**


	2. Admiral Wullf Yularen

**Brief Synopsis: Yularen aids in the transition from Republic to Empire by removing "Undesirables."**

 **XXX**

Eighteen Years Before the Battle of Yavin

His back cracked with a hollow sound that made him wince. The clone soldiers on either side of him made no comment as the turbolift ascended. _Another early morning rise._

Of course, true morning was impossible in the Core, as night was impossible with the billions of clustered stars together. The glare was stupendous even as far away they were right now from the superheated mass. Here, circling the old mining colony of Novis. There had been a certain desire of his to personally lead the strike force over, even if he internally felt conflicted.

Known as the "Last Stand Moon" in this sector of the galaxy, the old fort on the surface had once housed a pocket of fierce Jedi Resistance back in the wars of old, when dark forces had scourged the galaxy. Yularen the history very well: spending all his youth in the Academy, pouring over books and strategies of the Old Republic, Novis had held a place in the back of his mind, like the name of an old friend.

 _Was this how those forces felt?_

He shook his head, a chill running up his spine. There was no sense in thinking of such brooding things. The Old Republic was being replaced by something much better, much stronger. The Galactic Empire, in capable military ends. The transition was taking its time, factions of the Senate still raised qualms to Chan- no, _Emperor_ Palpatine's policies.

In the military, there was no luxury of dismissing command. Whether from the aging elderly clone troopers to the volunteers and conscripts waiting for him on the bridge of the cruiser, they followed orders. He was _glad_ to follow orders, it was how things worked in the army. Certainly he had found some of General Anikan Skywalker's strategies to be... unorthodox, but he had followed them to the tee.

The Old Republic Army had no place for questioning a superior. In this new Empire, he was determined to uphold that belief.

The turbolift opened and the trio stepped out onto the Ventator's bridge, a squashed structure sticking out above the main bulk of the cruiser. Novis hung there, a slowly revolving green and blue sphere that stared back curiously at the fast approaching ship.

They were alone of course, save for the fighters in the belly of this beast. Ships everywhere else were tied up eliminating other such... undesirables.

A second chill ran through his body as he walked towards the tactical display. _Surely this is wrong. This must be a mistake, some policy error._

He had thought the same though every mission, for the last two years. Each time, he hesitated before giving out the order.

"We have their location?" he asked calmly to the tactical officer, subconsciously touching the rank insignia upon his breast.

"Yes, Admiral. The planet locals reported a cluster of six hooded individuals entered the abandoned fort and pushed out the archaeologists in the area. We have every reason to believe it's them."

"Proceed with our entrance into the atmosphere," he ordered. "And have a small sum deposited towards the village as a thanks for their cooperation."

"Yes, Admiral." The officer touched a pad, and deep in one of the sockets of the bridge, the comm officer spoke into his mike. "Prepare for atmospheric penetration. Stand by."

The Venator began to descend to the atmosphere of the small planet, quickly filling up the viewing port. Yularen watched it's approach, wondering if he was retracing those same steps of those thousands years ago.

 _We are making history here_. Palpatine, speaking to the assembled Admirality those two years ago, in the aftermath of the immediate change of command from Jedi to the Admirals and Generals who had served under them. _You will all report to me, and only me. Your former commanders are now traitors to the Empire, criminals who refused to accept this necessary transition. Now, go out and bring security to your new government._

His ship trembled as it bypassed the intense atmospheric conditions. The hull momentarily glowed cherry red as they sped through the white clouds, towards the patch of green. It reminded him very much of a mission he had attended with General Skywalker-

"We've passed through the atmosphere," the tactical officer reported. "The old fort is four hundred kilometers due south, we came down a little to sharp. Should we get closer?"

He considered it, the necessity of command returning. "Begin our approach, but deploy the ground force now," he commanded. "We will allow them to have the first swing at the traitors, with bomber support. When we are directly above the fort..." he hesitated. _Am I really going to order this? This almost feels like treason..._

"Sir?"

"When we are above, we will have the ground forces pull back and we will unleash a direct bombardment upon the fort, making sure we have eliminated all of them."

The tactical officer keyed in the command, and the doors of the hangar opened. Gunships and their escorts exited, going down towards the surface only a few kilometers below them. The cruiser itself began a casual chase after them. In the distance, the black speck of the fort seemed completely harmless.

"You seem well versed in this, Admiral," the tactical officer said unexpectedly. Yularen looked at him through his creased eyes. He was not one of the old clone officers, but one of the volunteers. He remembered him having joined only a few months ago.

"I am, yes. I've been around for some time."

The officer's eyes darted up to his greying hair, then back to his console. "You... did you work- I mean-"

"I did serve under the Jedi when they were Generals, yes." The very words made him want to shiver again. He was an old man, he had seen much war in his time. This was nothing new, another assignment as per regular in keeping the Empire safe. They were _traitors_ , for stars sake!

"It must feel strange, attacking your old co-workers-"

"May I have an update on the siege?" he interrupted sharply, something so uncharacteristic of him the other officers flinched.

"No resistance yet, sir," a different officer reported. "The gunships have already landed and the troops are beginning to enter the fort."

"Give me live feed." He turned to his side as the order was relayed to the screen there. On it, the recorder on the helmets of the clone trooper commander wobbled perilously as he led his men into the darkened entrance of the fort. The others seemed to forget their jobs, watching the troopers enter.

The clone commander gave a look behind him, at the gunships nestled there and the fighters circling above. There was no sound in the cheap recorder. One of the helmeted troopers raised a hand and pointed while the others suddenly pointed their weapons towards the fort entrance. The commander turned-

A flash of bright green light flared out and suddenly the recorder went flying in a free fall. It tumbled through the air, catching warped images of blue blasterfire and longer bars of green and blue light. It came to a rest on the ground before the officers on the bridge had had time to gasp. The recorder pointed to the ground, but Yularen knew what was happening.

He had seen it in action, many times.

"Increase speed," he said shortly. "Tell ground forces to pull back, as well as fighters and bombers."

"We're going to bombard them now, Admiral?"

"Yes. Have gunners on standby."

He looked at the screen again. It remained unmoving for a split second, and then the helmet was being raised. The recording device swam in and out of focus before displaying a Twi'leak male, holding the helmet by its side. Two others joined the frame, a human and a Tunroth. The human clutched a glowing blue lightsaber, and after their moves had moved soundlessly for a few moments, he stuck the saber through the recorder. The screen went fuzzy with static, but Yularen had long stopped observing what was going on.

In a separate screen, he gazed at the shadowed fort below the Venator.

"Fire."

The order went out, and suddenly it was raining blue death. Sections of the fort erupted in blossoms of fire, and chunks of the structure went zigzagging through the air. The assault was relentless, pounding the place into submission.

Yularen felt quite ill. "Continue bombardment for three minutes, then cease and allow ground troops to investigate," he said sluggishly. He waved away the clone troopers he had entered the bridge with. Once inside, he put a hand to his forehead, covering his eyes while his teeth clenched behind his lips.

 _Get a hold of yourself, man._

 _But this isn't right. An officer never turns against his superior-_

 _They are no longer your superiors._ You _are in command now, so act like it._

The turbolift opened, his grey eyebrows knitted together. The beats of the turbolasers stopped as he neared his personal quarters. The door opened as he put in the passcode, and went to his desk. He pulled out his private datapad and keyed for Tarkin.

The other answered readily. He was, too, looking much older than when Yularen had attended his Governor Ceremony. Balding, high-cheekbones, but the eyes remained beady and alert.

"Wullf? What's going on?"

"I... I'm resigning my commission as apart of the Admirality, Wilhuff. I need the message passed on."

"What! Wullf, think about this for a moment. What's drawn you to this conclusion?"

"Age," he lied. He knew Tarkin's support for anything to do with bringing the Empire to rise would be put over even their own friendship. If there was one, it had always seemed one-sided in the depths of his mind.

Tarkin frowned. "We are growing old, but the Empire is still young," he said amiably. "Think about this, Yularen. Your a veteran of the Clone Wars, your expertise is highly prized. I can perhaps persuade the Emperor to give you time away from the front lines-"

"I don't _want_ the front lines, Wilhuff."

For a while, the other was tight-lipped, looking with predator eyes at Yularen. The latter felt nauseaous. Six more Jedi, dead by his hand. Former generals, serving the Republic just as he had. He didn't believe they could be traitors, but rather Palpatine _wanted_ them to be.

"Your country needs you, Yularen." Tarkin was speaking again, perhaps oblivious to Yularen's quivering mustache. "Perhaps you can serve the Empire a different way? The Imperial Security Bureau needs capable minds, Not front line at all, but doing much good for the security of the Empire. Far away from the front lines."

"The Bureau?" He hadn't heard much about it. It was a relatively new organization, far away from the direct military operations-

"Yes, I think that will work," he said as firmly as he could. _Serve the new superiors, without breaking the others._ "Thank you, Wilhuff."

"Let me know if you require more advice, Wullf," the other said stoutly, then ended the transmission before the former could utter so much as a farewell.


	3. Viceroy Gar Saxon

**Brief Synopsis: The last piece of resistance against the Empire ends on Mandalore, and a new leader is needed.**

 **XXX**

Fifteen Years Before The Battle of Yavin

The four-legged All Terrain-Armored Transport's foot smashed into the street again as it took a simple step forward, creating a jagged star in the millennia old street created by his distant ancestors. He twisted his head up at the behemoth, disgruntled with the thought that he would later be responsible for its repair.

Three figures flew past the head of the walker, small sparks of flame coming from their backs. The pro-Empire Mandalorians fired with their smaller blasters at the final holdout in the city of Mandalore itself, where the enemy had encamped themselves in the former citadel of the disgustingly pacifist Duchess Satine.

Pre Viszla would have been proud.

With a ruthless smile no one could see beneath his mask, he shot again with his own blaster towards a small clump of insurgents in a sniper alcove. He saw one of them drop with his helmet's enhanced visor, but the fallen rebel's comrades saw him and shot back, their snipers better adapted for longer-range.

One of the shots clipped him as his fingers danced across the jetback controls on his wrist. The armor took the brunt of the blow, but it blackened. The old blood red color was now tainted, and he felt strong disgust to the rebels. They, who couldn't just accept they were going to lose. Why were they even fighting anymore?

He took the air as the trio of AT-ATs stomped towards the citadel. Their main blaster cannons were not firing, on his own personal request to the Imperial commander who had reluctantly accepted it.

Not that he cared at all for the insurgents. No, Gar Saxon simply wanted the citadel intact for when he claimed it for himself.

Pre Vizsla was dead, executed by Darth Maul. Maul in turn had vanished, abandoning Death Watch as the Clone Wars ended. Bo Katan had opposed them, she no longer held any right to rule.

That left him. And he was more than glad to take control. He had whipped his men into shape, sworn allegiance when the Empire had been birthed. There was no sense in going against such an overwhelming, clearly more ruthless force. He was thrilled, in fact, when the Lord Darth Vader had offered help in reclaiming the planet for the Empire, against the insurgents who looked to Bo Katan as an idol-

 _Keep your mind on the battlefield._ The armor stung with the heat of the sniper rifle blast, but he ignored it. The sniper rifle blasts attempted to track him through the air, the high whine of the energy hurting his ears.

He fired back blindly, unable to properly aim while dodging. They were certainly nowhere near as good as his own Death Watch soldiers- _not without a leader like me_ \- but they were good enough to keep him on his toes.

A thunderous whine shattered his ear drums, almost causing him to fall out the sky. With fury, he realized the AT-AT's main cannons had fired on the snipers, completely destroying the alcove. As if galvanized by the first, the other two walkers also fired their cannons, blowing apart other alcoves of snipers or turrets. The citadel began to spit flame and debris, down upon the mingled clone soldiers and Mandalorian fighters of both sides.

Saxon keyed the comm on his helmet. "Commander, _I said not to fire your cannons_!"

"There's been a revision of order from High Command," the other said shortly. "Be grateful, Mandalorian, looks like I personally saved your hide."

Saxon bit back a retort as he glared at the head of the middle walker. The three metal giants continued to stamp forward as the resisting fighters shot uselessly at their armored hides.

 _High Command my boot_ , he thought darkly. _You pig-fed Imperials, you don't like things the warrior way, do you? You like the easy-_

The walkers suddenly fired a terrific, repeated salvo that tore the landscape apart like a lightning strike. Saxon landed on the ground, shocked by the display of firepower.

And then silence. The giant white structure, now blackened and cracked, was silent.

He hesitantly approached, taking off his helmet as he did so. Some of his own warriors, as well as a few surviving clone troopers, also cautiously approached. Saxon kept going until he stopped right at the front entrance of the tallest building in Mandalore.

No shot came at him. Instead, a figure stumbled forward from the wreckage. A blue-colored man in Mandalorian armor, a pistol held in one hand, the other held to his head in a dizzying state.

Saxon looked at him for a moment, then pointed his own blaster and shot him in the head. The visor on the other cracked as the energy met it and he went down without a second thought.

 _At last. Mandalore is ours once more._ He gazed up at the structure, and lip twisted. _However battered it may be._ He whirled around; a shuttle was landing in front of the middle AT-AT walker, who's hull had opened and the imperial commander was no exiting.

The Mandalorian leader pushed his way past the clones while his own men filed up behind him, the crimson armor seemingly glowing in the thick cloud of smoke around them.

The commander was the foot of the ramp of the shuttle as the Mandalorians approached, and Saxon grabbed him by the back of his smooth, clean uniform and pulled him around to face him. "I said to hold back your main cannons, damn you!" Saxon snarled, drawing the other in within an inch of his face. "Do you understand how many centuries this structure has been here? Do you understand what this building meant to Mandalore?"

"Orders are orders, Mandalorian," the other hissed, pushing his wiry arms up and unhooking Saxon's grip off him. "Get your filthy hands off me."

Saxon reared back, his fist drawn to strike the other. The Imperial flinched, unlike how the true warrior would have worked-

The Imperial Commander froze, his hand going to his throat. He began to gag, and Saxon realized with disbelief he was suspended as well, frozen in place with his fist unable to go further.

"I understand there has been so controversy over the orders issued, Gar Saxon." Deep, menacing, and covered in black, Darth Vader slowly descended from the ramp, one hand clenched before him.

 _He looks like a reaper, from the old children's stories,_ Saxon thought darkly.

"Your childhood trauma has no place in the mind of a warrior," Vader said. The gaze of the mask shifted to the choking Commander. "I was told you and Commander Selv have had some disagreements in the jointed effort to crush the resistance to Imperial rule here. You sought the slow, brutal way traditional to the Mandalorians, whilst Selv favored the quick onslaught with military vehicles."

Saxon remained silent. Behind him, his warriors stood as still as statues. Saxon's eyes remained glued to Vader's other hand, which dipped to his waist and withdrew a lightsaber. With a start, he realized the scene was becoming all to like when Maul had executed Viszla-

The lightsaber ignited, making his red armor pale as if in fright. Saxon's heart pounded within the armor-

The glowing red blade cleaved through the Imperial as if he were bread, and he flopped to the ground in two pieces. "I had originally sought to be doing this to you, Saxon," Vader said emotionlessly. "Leaving an Imperial in charge of such an unstable planet would have pleased the Emperor greatly."

The invisible hold on Saxon suddenly faded, and he stumbled forward, catching himself before he fell. He drew himself up and found himself face to face with the black death mask of the other.

"But I see a different use for you. The resistance on Mandalore is crushed. You have bred powerful warriors who did more work than three battalions I sent here. You have become quite an impressive leader, Gar Saxon."

"Powerful warriors who could be used to serve the Empire," Saxon said uncertainly, merely wishing to please the other.

"My thoughts exactly." Vader's body turned towards the shuttle, and Saxon followed his gaze. Clone troopers were pushing out large brown chests, rolling them down the ramp.

One stopped at their side. "Open it," the Dark Lord commanded. Saxon did so, fingers fumbling with the lid. They found the edge, and unhinged it. Inside was a creamy white armor, not unlike that of the stormtroopers. He took it out, and realized the resemblance ended there. It looked very much like their own, complete with the classical Mandalorian design. A white helmet accompanied it, with the classic Mandalorian style visor built into it.

He noticed a small insignia etched onto the armor. "What is this?" he asked.

"Your new uniform," Vader breathed. "As well as your promotion. I am appointing you Viceroy of Mandalore, with full control over the system and planet. A deposit of twenty-million credits will be given to you to rebuild the economy and infrastructure damage, as well as begin a new program for exporting Mandalorian Supercommandos across the galaxy for Imperial use."

It was all coming so fast Saxon did not have very much to say. It was more than he could've hoped for, so much more! Control of the planet, with the Empire keepings its distance? The chance for Mandalorians to once more make a name for themselves in galactic history, as their ancestors had done before?

He no longer cared about the citadel damage. Here, he was about go create a _new_ history.

"Remember you serve the Empire, Viceroy," Vader said chillingly, his mask gazing pointedly to the halved former Commander. "I would hate to have to give you a true warrior's lesson."

"You will not have to worry about that, Lord Vader," Saxon said primly, even snapping a salute to his forehead. "Mandalore knows it's place in the Imperial war machine, as do I."

Vader looked at from the depths of the mask, the nodded. "Do not fail me, Viceroy Saxon." He reentered the shuttle as the last chests of armor were placed around them. The glow of the shuttles engines washed over them, painting them in a blue halo as it took to the skies, leaving the Mandalorians to rebuild the rubble of their lives.


	4. Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin

**Brief Synopsis: Following his promotion to Grand Moff, Tarkin begins to go to work above the planet Sullust.**

 **XXX**

14 Years Before the Battle of Yavin

From the bridge of the Star Destroyer _Executrix,_ he observed the lances of green fire descending down upon the fiery red planet. From the atmosphere, their impacts could not be seen from high above, but the steady _thrumming_ of the turbolaser cannons firing was all the evidence he needed.

 _Let this be a lesson to you for defying the Empire._ His eyes narrowed at the crimson sphere below. The Sorosuub Corporation would indeed be regretting their quiet desire to send starships to rebel cells at Hypori. Such a waste of time, such a waste of resources.

But, business was business. No matter how dull it was, someone was needed to do it. And he took great pride in knowing he was the best at what he did.

"Continue the cannonade," he commanded aloud to the bridge. "Inform _Scythe_ and _Desolator_ that they may also begin their orbital bombardments, and to deploy their bombing squadrons."

The Captain of the vessel timidly spoke. "Sir, I don't understand. The traitor factory depot has already been destroyed, according to our scopes. What else is needed to be done?"

"You are new to this position, Captain?"

The younger fellow sucked in his breath, and Tarkin smiled. _Fear. Good. Reputation is important, Captain, remember that._ "I remember you are, for I personally disposed of your predecessor, so I will give you this small piece of advice when dealing with insurgents. Destroying _them_ is not enough. You must make sure their friends get the message as well. Their family. Their government. There must be no room for question against the Empire."

"I... yes, Your Excellency."

Grand Moff Tarkin sighed. "You are young, and getting used to this. Let this exercise be an example for you as well, Captain."

Together, they both observed the other two Destroyers release their fighters and then their bombardment. Suddenly the rain of death was tripled. The factory would be nothing but disintegrated scraps of metal and cooked corpses, but so would the surrounding valleys and towns.

 _An eye for an eye has no place here,_ he thought diplomatically. _A city for an eye makes a much firmer example, yes._

The ravaging of the planet continued for an hour. The comm officer tensely reported three desperate transmissions from the surface. The first demanded an explanation. The second pleaded for a reply. The third begged for an end to the onslaught. He assumed there would have been more, but they must have knocked out the communications tower.

Beside him the Captain eyed the planet, knowing the devastation occurring below but not seeing it. It was wonderful to see fresh-faced Academy graduates witness the true machine of the Empire.

"Learn from this, Captain," Tarkin said, feeling generous. "There may be a time when duty calls of you to do this-"

"Th-this is madness!" he cried. "They're _dead_ below, there can't be anything surviving such an assault! End this, call it off!"

 _Ah. This kind of response._ "Captain, we are the Empire," he said in his most patient tone. "There can be no room for weakness when dealing with rebels. Examples must be made-"

"You're slaughtering those people, people who maybe had no idea what Sorosuub was doing with the starships! You can't justify this- this _massacre_!"

"I assure you, it is," he said, already abandoning the patient tone and adopting his voice of steel. "This is what is necessary, and you _will_ come to understand it."

"No," the other whispered. "You're... you're proper mental. Weapons, stop firing!" he shouted at the bridge. "Order the other ships to stop as well, stop, stop-"

Tarkin sighed, now bored. He snapped his fingers, and the two stormtroopers standing guard at the turbolift began walking towards the old and young uniformed men. The Captain, shouting orders at the unmoving bridge officers didn't notice them until they had grabbed him under the armpits, holding him in place.

"Captain, I do not like to repeat myself," the Grand Moff said quietly, the _thrums_ of turbolaser blasts the only other sound heard. "We are the _Empire._ There is no room for weakness, and right now you are exhibiting that very disgusting characteristic. To keep control over these rebellious planets, the ultimate example must be made."

"But it's not even the whole planet," the ensnared Captain protested. "Just a single factory- a _single_ one, out of countless across the surface-"

He carelessly waved his hand at the bridge window, towards the very planet. "Just another target. Just another example. All of Sullust will remember they work under the heel of the Empire, as will any planets who took insight to Sorosuub's treachery." He looked with the chilly, almost lifeless eyes at the younger fellow. "Perhaps you understand _now,_ Captain?"

The other gave no response, but simply gawked at him like some sort of revolting specimen.

He did not like that look. "Very well, Captain, you wish to help the Sullustans?" he asked chillingly. He turned his face towards the stormtroopers. "Send him down through the airlock."

"Wha- _NO!_ " the Captain suddenly shrieked, struggling intensely in the black-gloved grip. But the stormtrooper's hold was like stone, and they did not yield. They dragged him screaming towards the turbolift, and when they had gone the bridge came to sound like a graveyard.

"This is what service to the Empire is," he said dully. Business was business, after all. "Anyone else with questions of how we must deal with insurgents?"

There was no reply, and he turned back out to gaze down. The green fire shot down endlessly, bombing the selected targets back to the stone age. But they were joined now by something else, a small, flailing shape-

Grand Moff Tarkin smiled. A little while later, he ended the bombardment. Forty-two thousand shots fired from all ships was the report. Estimated thirty-thousand dead. A good warning for the rest of the planet. The Emperor did not care much for these alien worlds, and neither did he. If needed, he would gladly order the entire termination of the planet with the Death Star when it reached it's completion.

There would be time for that later, of course. He ordered the comm station to create a signal to Coruscant in the strategy room, then exited the bridge to enter it.

The holotable came to life, and the grisly face of the Emperor appeared. "Grand Moff Tarkin, very good to see you. Tell me, how are you enjoying the duties of your promotion?"

"It is the same as always, my Emperor," he said in the same bored tone but with an edge of respect. "Sullust will be making no trouble for the Empire anymore, I can assure you of that."

"Very good, very good indeed. But as you said, the same as always. You may return to Corsucant, Wilhuff, I can dispatch Vice Admiral Ozzel-"

"Do not mistake the repetition for a lack of desire, my Emperor," Tarkin interrupted, one of the few who would ever have done so. "My duty is here to make sure the power of the Empire is known to these would-be traitors. There will be no questions of obedience from them."

The hologram wavered as the Emperor leaned back. "Indeed? You wish to remain aboard the _Executrix_ , then?"

"Business is business," he offered dutifully. "Someone must do it. And it mine as well be the best there is to do it."

The Emperor's tortured face split into a malicious grin, and he cackled. "Indeed, indeed!" he croaked when he had finished. "Very well then, Grand Moff Tarkin. Continue with your list of targets, let them taste the wrath of the Empire!"

Tarkin bowed his graying head, and the hologram winked off, putting the strategy room into darkness. _Our Empire_ , he thought to himself. _The time when he says those words are near. He needs only a little more persuasion before I add myself to the charade._

Sullust would be the first, of many examples. But not examples for the pockets of resistance forming. For the Emperor himself: he would see firsthand just how useful fear could be when used effectively. Then it would the Emperor, his puppet Vader, and Tarkin leading an unstoppable Empire to rule the galaxy as efficiently as possible.

 _Such a future_ , he thought with a rare smile upon his withered lips, _will be one where 'business' can be very enjoyable indeed._


	5. Admiral Kassius Konstantine

**Brief Synopsis: Star pupil graduate Kassius Konstantine attends his officer academy graduation, where he meets a certain sector head.**

 **XXX**

Eleven Years Before The Battle of Yavin

The walls of the reception hall shined with an inner glow from the countless hours of scrubbing the academy's slaves had labored on. The floors could have been made of refined diamonds, they reflected the people walking on them. All in all, it was a very elegant display to compliment the wonderful experience Kassius Konstantine had experienced here in the Anaxes Officer's Academy.

He sipped his glass of aged Sullustan gin, a recent thing pumped out by a subsidiary of Sorosuub Corporation. Back at the cadet's academy he had been thrown into by his parents six years ago, none of this would have existed. Had he continued the path of the stormtrooper, there would be no such fine luxury as _this_!

A polite cough behind him. The Academy's Director, Meris Scath, stood there in his gleaming black uniform, the red bar of command proudly displayed above his three war medals. He was a very polished individual, and had claimed to have been apart of a dozen battles in the Clone Wars, despite none of his medals dating back to that distant era.

"Kassius, are you enjoying the festivities?" he asked.

He nodded. "Very much so, Director. When will the ceremony begin?"

"Ten minutes. However, there was someone I wished for you to meet." The Director stepped aside, and a smaller woman came behind him.

 _Smaller only in stature_ , he thought. He felt a small knot form in his stomach as he looked at her. Her eyes were an icy blue than seemed to drink in all the details of him in moments. Her uniform clung to an athletic form, from the collared neck to spotless black boots. This, however, must have been the contact Scath had said was looking for a new commander for her sector defense fleet. Now she had come to meet the graduate's in person to select.

"Governor Pryce, this is our star graduate, Kassius Konstantine," Scath said promptly, looking between the two as Kassius slowly stood, setting the gin down. "Konstantine, this is Governor Pryce of the Lothal Sector. She has come to meet our star pupil."

"How do you do?" Konstantine said politely, extending a pale hand; he never got out into the sun much, these days.

The Governor took it in a firm grasp. "I'm very well, thank you," she said coolly. "You are the Academy's prized pupil, I am to understand. You... seem different that what I was expecting."

He nodded at once, ignoring the last comment. The guilt no longer came to him, after all these years. Shifting his failure onto his teammates so that he may look the best, emphasizing his presence in the projects that went well. His position he knew very well was average, not the best.

But that was not how other's would see it. To them, Kassius Konstantine was the finest officer on all Anaxes.

"You are correct there, Governor Pryce," he said gallantly. "I have excelled in all areas the Academy offers. Leadership, capital ship tactics, fleet maneuvering, Starfighter control- every section. I am proud to be joining the Empire as one of it's top officials." _And not one of those dim-witted stormtroopers_ , he thought smugly.

Pryce nodded, turned to Scath. "Your personal report card said you were previously apart of Brendol Hux's Arkanis Academy?"

He shrugged, pointed his hands to himself. "Does this look like the body of a man destined to be a stormtrooper?" he asked with a fake laugh.

She did not laugh back like other politicians he had weaseled with before. Somehow, she seemed to beyond such petty talk, with worried him. "Almost all officers have gone through the standard stormtrooper training program," she said stiffly. "I myself did. It allows one to properly understand the soldiers they command. How do you expect, then, to control your own soldiers if you are given authority over them?"

Kassius's eyes flicked to Scath, who nodded his head encouragingly. _When in doubt... influence the subject._

"Lothal is in the Rim, is it not?" Konstantine said, picking up his glass again and sipping it. "No doubt there is pirate trouble? Perhaps you may want command assistance-?"

"I am not haggling with you over position, Konstantine. I am asking you if you are capable of leading my sector fleet."

He gulped, his hand smoothing his thin mustache reflexively. "Governor, do my records here at the Academy not prove my capability-?"

"Papers, documents, and simulators. I want to know if you have had any actual experience, Konstantine."

He hadn't. His excellence in those papers and simulators had allowed him to pass up the field experience tests and still pass the top of his class. His own time aboard a ship had been in fact during those dreadful Arkanis Academy days, when he and his colleagues of the time had been aboard a Star Destroyer practicing boarding defenses-

 _Ah. Use every tool in your arsenal, no matter how old. I almost forgot._ "Indeed I have, Governor," he said diplomatically, racking his memories while Scath gave a low sigh of relief. "Have you ever had pirates or insurgents board one of your ships?"

She blinked. "No, I can't say that I have."

"In other sectors, it's an increasing problem," he lied. "Pirates are becoming bolder in the face of heightened Imperial weaponry. They can no longer expect to survive in long range combat as they were able to with the Old Republic ships. With the introduction of the _Imperial_ -class destroyers, they have no choice but to often board and try and knock out the ship from the inside."

"I have never heard of such tactics."

He looked thoughtful. "In the HoloNet, I believe there was a report from the Sluis Van Shipyards of boarding piracy," he said, quickly piecing together scraps of information under Pryce's icy stare. "I'm certain I could draw up the report, and many others if you require evidence; I know you are a busy pers-"

"Good heavens, it's time for the ceremony!" Scath said suddenly. "Konstantine, get up on stage! Governor Pryce, if you would follow me...?"

The Governor gave him a last look before following the Director out, leaving Konstantine behind with a smirk on his face. _Brilliantly played, Kassius, brilliantly played. We have her now._ He ascended the backstage where the rest of his class were assembled in the Academy's uniforms. Beside them, the uniforms of their offered positions were neatly piled on a desk. Many were simply going to become bridge officers, maybe a first mate or two. One would become a Destroyer Captain, while another, Titus, was being selected by the Imperial Security Bureau.

He had eyes only for an olive-gray one away from the rest. On it, a Captain's red and blue bar insignia lied atop it.

The stage wings split apart, exposing the stage to the audience of senators, officials, and Academy workers stood seated at the circular glass tables. His eyes found Pryce, seated with Senator Firrus and his aide Tol Sylus.

Scath took the podium on the stage. "Thank you all for attending this year's graduating class of the Anaxes Academy," he boomed through the mic. "For four years these youth traversed through the Academy's trials, to come to this point in their career in the Galactic Empire, to finally graduate into our esteemed military!"

The Director held his arm out towards them, his chest puffed out with undisguised pride. "Many of you here have attended because you have hired many already. As I call their names, please come forward and claim them, as they also come forward to take their new position's uniform!"

"First, Demetrius Fero, for chief communications officer aboard the _Vanquisher!_ " The room rang with applause as Fero, a red-haired youth with strongly built muscles stepped forward next to the tables. From the audience, two adults had entered the stage, one in the pale grey outfit of a sector head and the other in the olive-gray uniform of a Star Destroyer Captain. They shook hands, Fero bowing towards the Sector Head. _Always a kissup,_ Konstantine thought impatiently, subconsciously rubbing his mustache down again.

The applause ended, and Fero stepped back. Director Scath cleared his throat. "Next, Adrus Moors as second officer aboard the station _Wrath_..."

The names went on and on, and he felt impatience run through him. When Scath finally called his name, he was already halfway through the stage, waiting.

"Kassius Konstantine, as many of you know, has been our top student here at the Anaxes Officer's Academy. He has passed every evaluation with high marks, and little failure." There were some grunts and murmers from the other graduates behind him, but he ignored it.

"Young Kassius has been taken in a rare honor, almost unheard of in the Empire. Governor Pryce of the Lothal Sector has rewarded our top student with full command of the Star Destroyer _Relentless_ , used as the flagship of her sector defense fleet!"

The applause was a stunned one, but he beamed gloatingly down at them. This was the beginning of a new start, climbing the ranks of power one step at a time.

Pryce was on the stage, and she almost reluctantly extended her hand. Konstantine gave her a confident smile, but her mouth remained in a perpetual frown. "You do realize you are a military professional, not some sort of political lackey?"

"My goals have never been clearer, Governor," he said above the noise. "I will not disappoint."

Her eyes flashed, and again he felt a wave of intimidation run through him. When she spoke, however, it was noticeably softer. "We shall see, Captain. You may prove competent yet, perhaps you will prove worthy of promotion down the line. Admiral Remir is aging, after all..."

And as the applause finally ended and Pryce and Konstantine returned to their spots, he gave himself a private smile. Indeed, Admiral Remir would find himself in retirement soon. What an unexpected gift would it be, that this bright young student might take his place after an unfortunate error...?

The ceremony droned on, but the freshly christened Captain remained content through it all.


	6. Admiral Kendal Ozzel

**Brief Synopsis: Ozzel attends a meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, where he manages to impress a certain powerful individual.**

 **XXX**

Seven Years Before The Battle of Yavin

The Death Star, despite being only half-constructed, had already finished the main meeting room for the Joint Chiefs, a large low-roofed room with several chairs built around a large circular table.

 _They could make do with making these more comfortable, however,_ Kendal Ozzel thought with disdain, trying to slouch into a more comfortable position. _Maybe actually finish with this blasted space station._ He shot a silent, accusatory glare across the table. Director Orson Krennic, dressed in his haughty cream-colored outfit, curled his lip in return. "Something to say, Ozzel?"

"Only that this battle station has been under construction for over a decade, and that its still not even close to completion," Ozzel commented loftily, leaning back. _Ah, that's a good spot._ "One might think you're misusing the funds given to you to fund that little 'dead troopers' project or something."

Krennic shot up from his seat, a gloved hand pointing at him. Ozzel truelly enjoyed toying with the short-tempered man, his pride always seemed to get in the way of his judgement, even among equals.

And superiors. "Enough," Grand Moff Tarkin snapped from the head of the table. "Krennic, sit down. Ozzel, be silent."

Krennic pursed his lips, brushing his flowing cape behind him. Ozzel looked at it with grudging admiration. _Wonder how well that would look on me, once I get elevated in rank again. Only a matter of time before Admiral Seroj takes the bait and 'accidentally' hits that Imperial supply convoy._ He smiled smugly to himself about his brilliance, then refocused his attention on Tarkin.

"This meeting will not be a repeat of last time," Tarkin said coldly, flaring in the direction of Conan Motti and Cassio Tagge, who had been in a shouting match the previous gathering over diverting sector taxes towards ground instead of ship fleets. "However, the topic is very much the same as before. The Emperor has commissioned a new project that will again require more funding from your various departments."

Ozzel snorted. "Does the Emperor believe us to be made of credits?" he said dryly, and there were grunts of agreement around the table. "I already have enough difficulty keeping the Fifth and Sixth Fleet's in operable condition. Does he seek to ruin the Navy in place of stupid projects such as this Death Star?"

From across him, Krennic made a hissing sound between his teeth but remained silent. Tarkin raised an eyebrow in his direction before addressing Ozzel. "Rear Admiral Ozzel, would you speak in such a tone if the Emperor was present?"

"Of course not-"

"Would you speak out against his _direct_ order?"

Ozzel was beginning to feel uncomfortable, but he refused to be put off his stride. All too many times Tarkin and others like Yularen and Motti ignored his brilliance and ideas. This time he wouldn't stand for it. "Perhaps I would, Tarkin, if only to-"

"Then you would no longer be apart of this assembly," the Grand Moff said shortly. "The Emperor's Will is law. What he says go, and it is up to us as the brains of the Empire to make his wishes happen. No matter what the cost may be."

"But we cannot keep pouring out or funds for these pet projects of his!" Tagge protested, slapping a hand down on the table in frustration. "We must maintain a steady flow of credits into the Fleet!"

"Then you will be pleased to know that this project is actually intended to directly join the Starfleet."

Tagge stopped with his mouth open, then closed and leaned back in his seat. _That's right, sit back you sniveling weasel, we all know you just want more money for your personal use._

Not that he hadn't used some of his funding for himself, either. How else was he to afford the high-rise on Coruscant?

"What sort of project is this, then?" Tagge asked.

Tarkin shrugged. "I am unsure, I was merely told to announce it. The real proposition will come-"

The door to the conference room opened, and Ozzel felt a chill enter the room, as if the newcomer was somehow drowning out the warmth of the heaters on his own.

"-Lord Vader, here on the Emperor's behalf."

"Thank you for the warm welcome, Moff Tarkin," the tall helmeted man breathed. He walked swiftly through the room, behind the chairs of Motti, Yularen, and Jerjerrod, stopping at the side of Tarkin. "I have come to... persuade you to divert more of your credit income towards an interest the Emperor recently devised to bolster the Fleet," Vader said.

He raised a hand, and the holoprojector in the middle of the table ignited, creating a giant blue, arrow-head shape.

Ozzel looked at it in wonder. A comparison of a normal Star Destroyer was beside it; it dwarfed in comparison. _It must be more than ten thousand kilometers long_ , he thought breathlessly. His eyes found the Dark Lord, his attention fully devoted now.

"This is the preliminary schematic of a new class of warship," Vader announced into the stupefied silence. Even Tarkin, to Ozzel's satisfaction, seemed too surprised to speak. "It has been dubbed the _Executor-_ Class Destroyer, and will have a length of over twelve thousand kilometers. It is essentially a mobile blockade, fleet, and garrison all in one."

Motti found his voice. "W-well that's preposterous!" he exclaimed. "What need will we have for that? When the Death Star is completed, the use for starfleets will become almost nonexistent! When the galaxy discovers we have the capability to destroy entire planets, they won't dare to challenge the Empire! What use will we have for these money-sucking battleships then?"

"I agree with the Admiral," Krennic echoed, looking at the hologram with a disgruntled look. "Funding of such a colossal ship will only slow down the process of building this station, which I believe is the Emperor's main desire."

"Such warships will indeed become obsolete," Moff Jerjerrod remarked. "I believe it was Tarkin's own philosophy that the use of fear through threat of planetary destruction that would in fact _reduce_ the need to continue building up the fleet. One large deposit made in the Death Star, and then no further concern over continuously building new ships."

Vader remained still as a statue. "Nevertheless, the ships will be constructed."

Tarkin cleared his throat. "Lord Vader, the Death Star is our priority, as the Emperor has stated numerous times." The high-cheekboned man tilted his head just a little to gaze up at the dark figure. "Perhaps this idea is coming from a... different source?"

The accusation hung in the air, and Ozzel felt tremendous respect for Tarkin. Ozzel had seen Vader summarily strangle a junior officer for having miscalculated a lightspeed jump, of all things. To even indirectly insult the Emperor's Right Hand Man, Ozzel knew, was a swift way to an early grave.

But just as the respect gleaned, resentment formed. _Tarkin thinks he's so high and proper, seated at the head of the Joint Chiefs, with primary control over the Death Star._

And just as the dark thought formed, opportunity shined through it like a lightbulb. Ozzel leaned forward, eyes fixated on the giant ship. "I believe it's a wonderful idea," he declared. "The Death Star will _theoretically_ create a giant blanket of fear over the galaxy. But only for so long as it is in the system it is intimidating. It cannot be in more than one place at once; fear must be maintained at all times, not only when this overpriced heap of scrap is present."

" _What did you say?"_

"Hold your tongue, Director Krennic." Vader held up a hand to Ozzel, and he was unable to suppress a grin. _That's right. I'm on your side._ "Such giant ships with awesome weapon capability, to subjugate an entire system just by observing it! It may not be able to destroy a planet, but it can damn well level one into submission fairly easily. When has a ship of this size ever been constructed? _None_. The sight of it will make a rebellion system surrender without a single shot fired."

The more he talked, the more he believed what he said. _Forget Krennic's flashly little cape- having the command of one of_ those _ships? That is a symbol of power. That is respect that I deserve._

"Such ships could easily carry the out the purpose of intimidation the Death Star was designed for," Tagge mused, rubbing his chin as he drank in the details of the holo. "I would be willing to supply funds for it."

"As would I," said Dor Voorsh, head of the Muunilust Banking Clan. "These ships, while undoubtedly expensive, will in no way match the cost of the Death Star, while still fulfilling the purpose it was made for."

"So we should stop all our work now?" Krennic snarled. "When we are _this_ close to completion?"

"You said that four meetings ago as well, Krennic," Tarkin said, sounding bored. "Yet progress remains null-"

"You have been very quiet on the matter so far, Colonel Yularen." The table went silent again as Vader's powerful voice rang. "Why do you have to say on the matter?"

Ozzel frowned. _I just vouched for you, does that mean nothing?_

The old man in white uniform remained silent for a time. He had been that way for as long as Ozzel could remember, though he knew back in the Clone Wars he had been a much more lively man. _Just retire, you old hand. But before you do, say yes!_

Yularen turned his head to a much younger man at his side. Thin, handsome, pale-faced. Ozzel realized with some surprise that the younger fellow was looking at him with something that looked like disgust in his eyes. The Rear Admiral gave his best glare back that would have shook a junior officer to their roots, but the young man did not so much as flinch. "What do you think, Commander Rax?" Yularen asked.

 _Shifting your authority to some stupid boy?_ Ozzel shook his head. _What a disgrace you've become, letting some stupid junior officer choose for you. You should have stuck to the Admirality instead of ISB-_

"I believe the use of these Super Star Destroyers can be very benefical for the fleet." Ozzel looked back up; the Command Rax looked at Vader with such surety Ozzel had to wonder if the boy knew who he was talking to. "Such ships will greater enhance the firepower of fleets, to combat any threat that may arise."

Ozzel spoke up, seeing another shining opportunity. "Perhaps we can delay the construction of the ships?" he suggested. "Until the Death Star is completed, it should be the primary focus of our funding. Once it is done, these Super Star Destroyers can be given _full_ attention, instead of splitting our already pressed taxes!"

Vader looked back at him and Ozzel gave him a triumphant smile. All around the table, heads were nodding at the compromise. Even Krennic, Motti, and Tarkin, the Death Star's biggest supporters, seemed to be more accepting with the compromise.

"Let is put it to a vote," Tarkin said. "Those in favor of complete dismissal of the project?"

The Rear Admiral watched as Vader's mask swept the room; Krennic, Motti, and two others raised their hands.

"Those in favor of a delayed construction?" The remaining hands rose, Kendal Ozzel making sure his was up first. "We have a decision, then," Tarkin announced. "The construction of these _Executor-_ Class Star Destroyers will begin promptly _after_ the completion of the Death Star. This meeting is adjourned."

Ozzel stood up quickly, chasing after Vader. He purposefully slammed past the Commander Rax for good measure- _junior officers have to know their superiors, after all_ \- and managed to catch the dark armored man in the hallway. "Lord Vader!" Ozzel gasped, short for breath. "I... I wished to express my congratulations on pushing the project through."

"You have my thanks, Rear Admiral Ozzel."

He stood stood for a moment, expecting more, but Vader said nothing else but instead began to walk away again. Ozzel kept after him. "These ships you have concocted are a work of brilliance, my Lord. With the proper advisory committee-"

"I require no committee."

"That may well be, Lord Vader, but I insist-"

Vader stopped suddenly, and Ozzic almost bumped into him. "You are a very persistent man, Ozzel. One might think your ambitions are outside your jurisdiction."

"A man must pursue his dream," he said smartly. He was playing with fire, he knew, but there was little choice. He would not have another opportunity-

"You would not," Vader said into his thoughts. "But your persistence in the _Executor_ program is noted. Perhaps I will find a way to use you in the future, Ozzel. We will remain in contact."

This time Ozzel let him go. Vader had sounded more annoyed than accepting, but either way, he knew the Dark Lord was a man of his word. He had his place in this upcoming program, and this time with _Darth Vader_ by his side! No one would dare mock him with the Emperor's Right Hand Man at his side.

Or with an enormous ship under his control. He chuckled to himself, walked the other way towards his shuttle, ignoring the disgruntled look upon Commander Rax as he passed him in the hallway.


	7. Grand Admiral Thrawn

**Brief Synopsis: The Grand Admiral enjoys an art exhibition on a planet currently being subdued by the Empire.**

 **XXX**

Four Years Before the Battle of Yavin

It was like standing in the middle of a swirling rainbow, the colors around him were so vibrant. He could not have asked for a more perfect opportunity, a more perfect break from the siege. His stormtrooper guards remained stationed at the front of the exhibition, while he entered the marble room, alone.

 _Very curious, these people, to find time make such works while their very lives are threatened._ He got up close to one of the more recent paintings, an oiled work of bright yellow flowers, half of them live and vibrant in the planet's double suns, while the other half was dying under the shadow of what looked like an Imperial Star Destroyer. He put a finger to his chin while red eyes drank in the details of the artwork, from the author's signature scribbled in one of the lively flowers, to the texture of the vase the flowers were in, to the choking darkness of the shadow killing the flowers.

J'dar was a small but rich planet who's purpose had been to refine Tibanna gas for weapon use. It had come to the attention of High Command that a large amount of the gas was, in fact, being sold to insurgent groups running amok in the sector.

He had leaped at the opportunity. The people of J'dar were known for their refineries, yes, but it was also home to something else. Or, _someone_ else. A Lorrus Melyol, an artist who's works even the Emperor Palpatine had hung in his Imperial Palace, despite Melyol being an alien.

Thrawn was himself an alien, of course. Palpatine, however, had deemed certain aliens of use in the Empire. The rest he expressed disdain for, which sometimes made him question his work.

He quietly walked over to another painting, an older one, he could tell. Done by Melyol. Twenty-two years old, he knew it well. Gingerly he bent forward, eyes searching, searching- _Ah, yes. This is indeed the original._ It showed a much simpler picture than before. Four J'darans, watching the double eclipse of their double suns on a rocky plateau. He had been there only recently, in fact. A camp of the insurgents had planted themselves at the rock's ledge, determined to make a final stand and die. After the ground troops had proven unable to penetrate the stalwart defender's ranks, he had ordered the place to be shelled.

No one would be able to stand on that ledge again. He regretted the action quite heavily now, and he sighed.

 _Time for one more._ He looked out the glass windows of the exhibition; the guards were looking down the street. As he had hypothesized, the insurgents would be unable to resist trying to assassinate the man who had been outwitting them for the past three months.

The third was an art sculpture, that seemed to be alive. It was made of a material he was unfamiliar with; red and white stone blended together into the shape of two J'daran's locked in what they called the "Msstra," or the "Dance of Life." It happened after their wedding ceremonies, in which the dance would happen towards the end, and afterwards the newly wedded would then go about making a child. He could almost see the faces of other Imperial officer's spitting upon such a thing, so quickly. It had happened, all too many times before.

Gently, a hand came up to touch the sculpture, to turn it around slightly to view it from a different. No one was there to stop him; the town had long had its population killed off for trying to house some of the rebels. Another action, he regretted: among those casualties had been Melyol himself.

But war was war. He had learned it always came at a cost, many years ago. He had set about to always strive to keep that cost low. The Empire cared very little for other culture, for art. Where he saw beauty, they saw only tedious obstacles to work around. One of his reasons for joining the Imperial Navy had been to try and be one of the few who tried to stop that.

"Admiral, we need to evacuate you immediately!" His guards had stumbled into the exhibition. He could feel the tension emanating from them. He picked up the sculpture in his hands, cradling it like a small child. "Admiral, quickly! The rebels have entered the town with three heavy tanks-"

"Only three?"

"Wha- yes, Admiral. Do you have orders?"

He held one of his hands open. "Trade me your comlink, trooper." The stormtrooper turned to his friend as if to say _"What did he just say?"_ before cautiously taking out his comlink and taking the sculpture in his hands.

Thrawn's thumb found the activation switch. "Commander, are the three tanks coming down the main street or side?"

"Admiral! They are coming down the main road-"

As he had anticipated, though he had held a reserve plan in case they had decided to indeed come down the side streets to attack the temporary HQ they had set up. They would be gunning for the makeshift base, thinking he would be inside. He could hardly blame them, how could they have anticipated their enemy would be more fascinated with their artwork than planning their utter defeat?

"Are they near the Blue Earth Hotel?"

"Yes, Admiral-"

"Have your turret emplacements fire for the first, third, and seventh pillars of the hotel, Commander, when the tanks are right next to the structure. When you have done so, deploy your ground troops to engage what's left of them."

The comm was silent with bemusement. "I- yes, Admiral. But why?"

"Those are the most unlucky numbers to the J'daran's, Commander," Thrawn said, casually walking towards the windows of the exhibiton. From here, he could see across to the main plaza, and from there the tall structure of the Blue Earth Hotel. "They will have spent greater efforts to strengthen those specific pillars for fear their god of karma will break them himself. With the added reinforcement placed in them gone, the hotel will fall forward."

The Commander didn't try to question him anymore; he had lessened that in the recent months, which he could hardly care less for. The man was brittle, unteachable. He held little appreciation for the finer works in life, simply wanting to sample the local women of whatever town they subjugated next.

He shook his head. Where might they be in this siege were he not here to tell them these things?

His guards stood behind him, having listened to the conversation and now simply gawked as the laser turrets fired upon the hotel while tanks entered the shadow of the structure. Gingerly, he took the sculpture from the stormtrooper's hands as the hotel began to tilt. Wild screams came from plaza that were quickly drowned out by the sound of several tons of marble and plaster crunching and crashing as it fell.

By the time he had walked back into the HQ, the dust had cleared, with only the flattened metal of one of the tanks poking out from beneath a chunk of marble.

"Have this delivered to the _Chimerea,_ " he ordered, thrusting the sculpture into the hands of one of the supply pilots. He turned to the Commander, who had a sort of dumbstruck look upon his face as he looked at Thrawn.

"Sir, how do you know these things? Just... how?"

"Learn about art, Commander," he said dreamily, turning heel and walking steadily back to his private tent. "Learn, understand, and enjoy it, and perhaps then you will have an answer to your own question."


	8. Director Orson Krennic

**Brief Synopsis: The Advanced Weapons Research Division undergoes a special simulation on a live population as the Director observes with his comrade Galen Erso.**

 **XXX**

One Year Before the Battle of Yavin

Clunky as the walkers were, Director Orson Krennic remained perfectly upright as he looked out the main viewport. Today, they would not be using the enhanced weaponry he had personally devised. Instead, it provided a wonderful elevation to view what would happen when...

When, what? He casually turned to Galen by his side, in contrast holding onto the safety straps as the walker clunked forward to Dorull, the quaint settlement on the moderate moon of Sylus IV. He jostled in place, his facial hair looking as unkempt as ever, while his face remained the color of sour milk. He must've seen Krennic looking at him, for he turned to face him, the tightly controlled look on his face that he'd always had, since the encounter on the farm.

"Enjoying yourself, Galen?" Krennic asked conversationally, looking back out the viewport.

"Is it not obvious, Orson?" the other countered.

"No, it's not. You look as if you're going to be sick." As if in belief of his own joke, Krennic held his cape back away from the imaginary vomit. "One might think you'd be used to traveling in these by now!"

Galens grasp on the handle made his knuckled go white. "Evidently, that is not the case."

There was a silence for some time. The Director had long grown used to the absence of conversation in Galen's presence; the fellow was compliant, hard-working, and efficient in his work, but any interaction with Krennic was met with a stiff attitude. Gone were the days from the early Empire, when Galen had tirelessly worked to perfect energy conversion from kyber crystals.

Of course, Krennic hadn't told him what the use of them was then. Galen was a hopeless pacifist, in a hopeful, violent galaxy.

One of the AT-AT drivers touched something on his control desk. "The weapon testers report ready, Director. We are within full visual range."

"Stop us here, then," Krennic said proudly. The walker gave to a teetering halt, five kilometers away from the settlement. The perfect distance, he hypothesized, to be just out of the blast radius and yet to see it in all it's awesome glory. There was just something fascinating about seeing things like this happen! "Wait for my command," he ordered, his eyes trained on the settlement. He imagined he could see his stormtroopers rushing out of the village from the hypervelocity bomb they had deployed in the town square. Waiting for them was necessary... but so was finding out the results of the bomb's effects of humans encased in plastoid armor.

Galen seemed to sense something was wrong. "Krennic-"

"Contain your excitement, Galen, I'm doing it." He suppressed a smile at the other's confusion, then said more loudly so that the comm would pick him up clearly: "Activate the bomb."

There was no hesitation, even with the Imperials still on site. There was a blinding white light, followed by a glassy blue halo flaring out from the epicenter. The small wooden houses and stone structures of Dorull were blown away as if by a great gust of wind. He held macrobinoculars to his face with the light detection on low, so as to not blind himself. Leaves were turning to ash, people were vaporizing. He strained to see any stormtroopers- ah there they were, one was being disintegrated before his eyes in the blue wave.

"What a lovely site," he said breathlessly, holding a gloved hand to his chest. His fingers subconsciously wrapped around the twelve-colored bars of his rank. "Truelly breath-taking; that alien Grand Admiral the Emperor took in a decade ago would find art in here, undoubtedly. What do you think, Galen?"

It wasn't that he enjoyed torturing Galen Erso, but that it seemed necessary at this point. To show him this was what the galaxy was, what their mission was. To supply the Empire with faster ways to kill, easier ways to subdue. Their brilliant minds were _made_ for this sort of thing, and he took great pride in knowing this was his place. Galen should've as well- what else would those glowing little crystals do for them?

Galen Erso watched the detonation with his bottom lip trembling. He looked away when the glow became too bright; an easy excuse. "You aren't looking," Krennic reprimanded the other. "Come on, don't you have any desire to see the marvel we've constructed?"

With what looked like great effort, the engineer turned back to look at the slowly fading glow. Krennic waited for his response patiently; the settlement was now slanted walls, broken support beams. Nothing was standing for miles. The blue, radiating low expanded towards them a little close for comfort, but finally dissipated. He gave an honest sigh of pleasure. "Driver, take us back to Gamma Point."

"Yes, Director. Also, there is a message waiting for you. Would you like it relayed here?"

"Who is it from?" he said, tearing his gaze away from the destruction.

"Ah... Grand Moff Tarkin." The driver said it hesitantly, and with good reason. The very name made his face redden, and he said between suddenly clenched teeth, "I'll take it in the officer's room, thank you."

He whipped around, the cloak swishing around his legs. He saw a small smirk playing on Galen's lips, and he snarled, "When we get back to Gamma Point, you're going back to Eadu. I expect a full update on the kyber energy transfer for the Death Star, do you understand?" He was wildly satisfied to see the smirk wiped from the other's face, again replaced by the tightly controlled expression. With a final sneer towards him, he snapped his fingers. The two Death Troopers standing at the rear of the cockpit fell in behind him as he went to the rear of the trudging walker, where the small closet-like room offered privacy.

The Director tapped a finger on the holo display, and his lip curled. Graying, cheek-boned Tarkin. _"Director Krennic, I am making this message because I have been told you are away to Sylus IV practicing with your toys. Need I remind you of the importance of the Death Star, which you continuously boast about at the Joint Chief meetings but have no proof to back them up? Results are needed, Director. Faster, if you will."_ Tarkin's quarter-sized face seemed to smile, to his infuriation. _"Contact me when you return to Jedha. I will be there to supervise your-"_

The rest was drowned out as Orson Krennic slapped his palm down on the projector with a snarl, flattening Tarkin's image and cutting off the sound. His face contorted, then slammed his palm down again before shutting off the holo. Coming to supervise? Like he was some sort of child?

 _You envy me, Tarkin_ , he thought savagely. _Envy my work. Envy that if you weren't around, the Emperor would be kissing my boots. You stuck-up little worm..._

He was quite put off from Dorull's destruction now. He exited the officer's compartment with a dark cloud above his head. He would show Tarkin who was boss. The Grand Moff always talked about his plan for fear, to control the galaxy- as if it was him who controlled the Death Star!

Krennic allowed himself a small smile. He would prove the old man who was right. He would show the Vader, Tagge, Ozzel, all of them. And then he would not be playing babysitter for Erso on some backwater moon, but sipping the finest wines by the Emperor's side on Coruscant. Patience would be his ally... and he would watch with great satisfaction when Tarkin watched _him_ say those five powerful words: _"You may fire when ready."_


	9. General Cassio Tagge

**Brief Synopsis: Having doubts about both Tarkin's fear strategy and the Death Star, General Tagge makes a hasty departure.**

 **XXX**

One Day Before The Battle of Yavin

He paced inside his quarters, feet making slaps upon the metal floor. His uniform, boots, blaster, all of it hung ready on the open closet door, where he placed it an hour before, when the thought had first crossed his mind. But during that hour, the final impulse to act had not arrived. Cassio Tagge stopped walking, murmering softly to himself, before resuming the inelegant strut.

 _It'll never work. You're wrong, Tarkin, the Rebellion is better equipped than you dare realize. And that overconfidence is going to crash down on your oversized head._

The General cared very little for the Grand Moff, or any of the other Joint Chiefs, however many now remained. Krennic himself was dead after the fiasco at Scarif, and Tallatz had resigned the day after with the excuse of "family needs" being more important. His shuttle crash to his homeworld, he knew, was no accident. One did not simply leave the Empire's highest command post. And even with these challenges, even with the Rebel victory at Scarif, Tarkin remained as haughty and confident as ever. _All_ of them did, even sneering Motti with his boasts of the Death Star's power.

Jedha was devastated. Scarif Base was obliterated. And just an hour ago, Alderaan had been absolutely destroyed. These examples, Tarkin claimed, would be all the evidence the Rebellion needed to turn themselves in.

 _That will never be the case, and you know it._ His large hand came to pick the uniform off the coat hangar, and then just as quickly replaced it back on the door. _I can't leave, they'll kill me just like Tallatz._

The Death Star was becoming a bigger problem than a solution. Vader detested the thing as much as he did. But the Dark Lord would follow the Emperor's foolish wishes to the ends of the galaxy, expressing such complaints would only earn him a choking response as it had with Motti.

Tagge looked himself in the mirror. Fat, balding, short. His sideburns that he had trimmed for elegance suddenly looked foolish to him. Hardly the intimidating figure Vader was, but he was surely more competent than he. In charge of the Empire's ground forces as a whole, he had been one of the few to have achieved the rank through sheer hard work. Vader _should_ listen to him, he was, after all, just another soldier to the Empire by his own words. Voicing his fears of the Death Star should reach him!

But they never would unless Vader was put beneath him, just like he currently was to Tarkin. And under the current circumstances, that would not be happening anytime soon.

He rubbed a hand along his bred frame, gave his room a wide berth with calculating eyes. This was the Death Star, the largest space station ever constructed, with the capability to destroy entire planets. There wouldn't be any need for concern- the thing was unstoppable! And yet the fear the Rebels might actually find something gnawed at his insides like some sort of acid.

 _I have to get off of here_. Mechanically, his fingers pulled the uniform off. He forced himself to put it on, button it up, pull the collar out delicately. The blaster, normally reassuring against his waist, felt completely useless. He powered himself up, and opened the door of his room.

A familiar face stood there: Commander Rax, Yularen's attache. "What is it?" Tagge said swiftly, knowing the other would not let him pass without letting him speak. He was an odd young man, who seemed treat his higher ups as equals. Tagge abided by it, for the boy had proven his resourcefulness more times than Yularen had.

"Grand Moff Tarkin requests you come to the main control chamber. He claims they have the location of the Rebel's base from the Princess."

"Is that right?" His heart thumped. Though he was the last person he would want to have relieve his fears, perhaps Tarkin might be able to soothe his troubled mind. He began storming towards the center, with Rax following at a steady trot. "Something I can help you with?"

"Colonel Yularen asked I take his place at the brief meeting."

"The other Chiefs will be present?"

The other shrugged. "The others have not been informed, save Admiral Motto because he was present."

 _Of course, Motti sticking his nose wherever he can get information._ They entered the turbolift and quickly began to raise. Tagge sweated with his own inner conflict. _Could the Princess have given the true location? Or is just a ruse?_

"You seem a little tense, General Tagge."

"Excited by the test of the Death Star's full firepower finally having been used," he lied. "Perhaps now we may finally beat the Rebellion into submission."

"You really believe that?" Rax sounded honest, so Tagge decided to be honest in turn.

"No, actually. I think this entire scheme has been nothing but Tarkin's desire to further gain praise of the Emperor. The other Chiefs side with this credit-wasting scheme only because they, too, will acquire the Emperor's favor. It is a disgusting display."

Rax nodded. "I agree. Pardon to the Emperor's power, but this entire station seems like an utter failure. What if it were to be destroyed? How would the Empire look then? Billions of credits wasted, millions of crewmen lost. And those other higher-ups, like Motti and Ozzel, only lick the boots of Tarkin because, as you said, they seek the Emperor's approval."

Tagge found himself nodding to the other's incensed tone. It sounded as if the other was digging up Tagge's own anger at the situation. He looked down at the pale faced youth; he looked back with intelligent eyes. "You're a smart lad, Commander. You seem wasted in Yularen's command."

He offered a smile. "Appearances, General. This is always more beneath what you see."

Before Tagge could question, the turbolift opened. Tarkin was there, as was Motti, standing in front of a live-display of the asteroids that was now Alderaan.

A familiar hoarse breathing was also there, coming from a third person in the shadows of the room. Darth Vader himself. Tagge's mouth momentarily went dry, but he found his voice. "Well? Commander Rax tells me the Princess finally coughed."

"Indeed," Tarkin said gloatingly. "She told us that Dantooine was the current Rebel base after I threatened to destroy Alderaan. Of course, it's too far in the Rim to be as noticed as Alderman."

Rax stirred. "That was over an hour ago, Grand Moff Tarkin. Why are you telling us this only now?"

The superior glared at him; clearly, he held little respect for the younger man. "We had to dispatch probe droids to make sure there was some sort of anomaly on the planet's surface before I bothered you with the information," he said snidely. "Now that there is that confirmation, I have suggested to Vader he visit the planet himself. You, Motti, and Tagge must be briefed to cover his duties while he's absent-"

"I'll go." He had blurted it without thinking. The situation was just too perfect: Vader's silence all but showed he was in strong disagreement with Tarkin's "suggestion." No doubt he wished to remain aboard the Death Star to make sure Tarkin stayed in line.

And he could finally get off this madhouse. "I mean, I will take Lord Vader's place in visiting Dantooine. He seems to be needed here, after all."

Tarkin seemed to think about it while Motti scowled. Rax looked at him impassively while Vader's stentorian breathing filled in the silence. "Very well," the Grand Moff said. "Tagge will take Vader's place. The shuttle leaves in two hours, Tagge, to rendezvous with the 122 Battalation. Report immediately when you have details about the base."

"Wait."

They all paused as Vader stepped forward. "I sense unease in you, Tagge. Do you something to voice?"

For some reason, that made him turn to look at Rax. The other's face was shining imploringly, urging to speak the concerns the two had just discussed privately in the turbolift. _"I'll back you up_ ," they said.

But that had been in private. This was face to face with both Tarkin and Vader, in the flesh. "No concerns, Lord Vader," he said imperiously, ignoring the crestfallen look upon Rax's face. "I will be leaving immediately."

He turned towards the turbolift, which opened and allowed a lieutenant to step out. "Moff Tarkin, anomaly in one of our hangar bays, some sort of smuggling ship..."

The rest was cut off as the door shut, and he gave a breath of relief, fixing his collar and wiping the sweat off his forehead. _Just get me off this blasted station. It's all yours Tarkin: you want it so much, you can stay on this place until you die!_


	10. Admiral Firmus Piett

**Brief Synopsis: Then Lieutenant Piett finds himself climbing the ranks aboard the dreaded dreadnought** ** _Executor_** **, which he finds to be the exact direction he shouldn't be heading.**

 **XXX**

One Year After the Battle of Yavin

Like a long dagger wielded by an imposing hand, the _Executor_ sliced through space above the orange planet's surface. Sullust, the volcanic hotbed home to the Sorosuub Corporation and its repulsive Sullustan species. Lieutenant Piett looked down upon it with disdain despite the present situation, which had him quavering in his boots.

Not about what Darth Vader had in store for Sullust, which despite previous threats from the late Grand Moff Tarkin himself, once again had silently given warships to the growing Rebellion. Big ones, nasty ones. Ones that Piett had watched destroy three frigates above Malastare and then wink away into hyperspace. The Rebellion, despite the best efforts of Imperial propagandists, had in reality grown to something much larger and equipped than anticipated.

The bothersome race would have what was coming to it. That wasn't what was bothering him, however; as he stood there by his tactical observations post, he looked out of the corner of his eyes towards the front of the bridge, where Admiral Ozzel and General Korast stood, sweating in their uniforms. The whole bridge was sweating, waiting for the real commander of the vessel to show up.

Darth Vader. Tall, imposing, armored. The _Executor_ was his flagship, a Super Star Destroyer of gigantic proportions to which Piett had been lucky enough to be assigned to. Well, that had been his thought at the time.

 _It's more of a prison now, isn't it? A prison,_ and _a graveyard. All in one..._

There was no doubt the _Executor_ was the highest performing ship in the entire Imperial Fleet. Vader often hand-picked officers to come aboard his ships right from the academy's, choosing only the absolute best for himself and discarding the others. To come aboard the _Executor_ was an honor only a handful would ever experience, and Lieutenant Piett expected he should have been grateful he was one of those exceptional junior officers, to work on what was the pride and joy of the Empire.

What with the Death Star gone. His eyebrows came together with every thought of the multi-cursed battle station. He had lamented the idea of spending billions of credits on a station like that, when more vessels like the _Executor_ could have easily been constructed-

"Sub-Lieutenant?" That was Lieutenant Commander Haven, chief of the tactical sensor station, working with him and four others in the left bridge pit. He looked down at Piett with the same strained eyes everyone else had: they all knew what was coming.

"Y-yes?"

"What news from Korast's troops?"

He blinked, swallowed as he brought up the screen. His chest tightened. "Ah... the battalion has sent it's feedback. Confirmation that all the hangars are empty on the planet's surface..."

Piett trailed off, and Haven didn't have to know why. "Send to Ozzel, now," Haven whispered before looking up. The doors to the extravagant bridge had opened, making everyone snap their faces up. Above them all, Ozzel and Korast straightened their backs, looking at the incoming figure with undisguised distress.

Darth Vader glided like a specter towards them, silent and drawing the eyes of everyone. Behind him came a pale-faced fellow Imperial: Colonel Veers, as he remembered. Piett gulped, his hand trying to find the reassuring presence of the tactical station.

"Well?"

The silence stretched for a moment. Ozzel glanced down at the datapad in his hand, where Piett had just transmitted the deadly news. Piett could see the desperate look on his face, and saw it fade away. "Lord Vader, I- we, _we_ regret to inform you of the disappearance of the next shipment of vessels from traitorous elements in the Sorosuub Corporation."

Deep breathing. "We will triple our efforts in placing spies in key positions," Korast said stoutly. "They cannot keep evading our presence-"

"Just as they evaded your troops on Kashyyyk?"

"The blame falls squarely on Admiral Ozzel," Korast said defensively. "He demanded we wait at the system's border to as to not alert them, which also put them out of range of our sensors! That had-"

"Enough." Piett felt a chill run up his spine, and he looked determinedly at this display, even though there was nothing on it. Likewise, he knew many others were attempting to blot out the conversation...

"My Lord, the Sorosuub Corpoation will be made to pay reparation for this outrage," Ozzel said acidly. "When the workers know they are costing their planet, they will surely stop-"

Vader's breathing seemed to intensify. "I am not looking for excuses, Admiral, I am after _results._ Results neither of you have yet to provide me with since the loss of late General Tagge."

Piett remembered that, and it was that event which had made him start to dread being aboard this ship. That event, in fact, that had made him start to wonder whether the _Executor's_ name was truly just a name.

Ozzel panicked. "We will provide the results, Lord Vader-"

 _"You_ will, Ozzel. As will... General Veers."

The bridge took in a collective breath. Korast, perhaps too numb with shock to properly understand, gave out a, "What?" before the choking began.

Piett shut his eyes, wanting nothing more than to leave the bridge entirely, to go back to the _Accuser_ where he had previously been stationed, guarding transport ships. Not aboard this floating graveyard. But he could not escape the sounds of Korast's final moments...

A century later it finally ended, and he heard the prim stamps of the guards coming forward to take Korast's body away. "Do not disappoint me with more excuses, General Veers," Vader said in his most intimidating voice. To Veers' credit, he gave a firm, "Yes, Lord Vader," before all but running back out the bridge door.

Piett sighed. Vader would stay at the bridge to view the stars like he always did, then would go back to his chambers-

"Admiral Ozzel, the reason you have not been equally terminated is because the error is not at your hand. Instead, it had been performed by your tactical chief. Kindly direct me to him."

Beside him, Haven froze. His eyes looked at Piett a moment, then at the other four tactical officers before slowly turning up towards the front section of the bridge. Ozzel pointed at him without hesitation, a look of relief upon his face. _You're glad you could shove the blame somewhere else,_ Piett thought with rising anger. _You blasted pig..._

Darth Vader slowly walked forward, until he stood above Haven and looked down upon him. Haven found his tongue. "L-Lord Vader, I-"

"My patience has worn thin, Lieutenant Commander Haven. I will not have your inaptitude in leading the tactical station remain in place any longer."

It was a million times worse than Korast's execution. Haven flailed, hands clutching his throat right beside him! Once he grabbed Piett's shoulder in a mad grip, trying to do what, the poor tactical officer did not know. He looked away, his heart pounding and trying vainly not to be sick. Haven crumpled to the pit's floor, unmoving.

"Sub-Lieutenant Piett, I am to understand you were the one to initially bring back the results."

 _No. No, no, please no._ "Yes," he said mechanically, forcing himself to look up at the death's mask. "Yes, that was me."

Vader looked down on him. "You may put yourself to rest, Piett. Haven's belief that the preliminary results were not needed and should be discarded cost us three hours we otherwise would have had to arrive and catch the Rebels." Disbelieving, Piett found his voice. "Sir...?"

"Your quick thinking and early predictions would have won us the capture of more Rebel Vessels, _Lieutenant Commander_ Piett."

Piett had long grown used to the informal promotions, done often at Vader's whim. But still he could not dare believe his luck. A promotion, _Haven's_ job? It was too good to be true-

 _It is too good to be true._ Piett watched as Vader turned back to Ozzel. "Begin targeted fire on all Sorosuub factories this side of the planet. Then inform them there will be no recompense." He went to the front of the bridge, and Piett felt a well of despair rise up inside of him. _Another step closer to direct contact with Vader. Being up there, with Ozzel and Veers. This is no promotion: it's a line straight to the gallows..._


	11. General Maximillian Veers

**Brief Synopsis: Whilst fighting rebels on Bonadan, General Veers discovers a frustrating issue in the command hierarchy.**

 **XXX**

Two Years After the Battle of Yavin

In the cockpit of the stamping AT-AT walker, General Veers watched the smaller AT-ST walkers pivot around the large T2-B tank trying to blast away at the stormtroopers taking cover behind a fallen scout walker. The two-legged vehicals fired with their light blasters at the heavy tank, drawings its attention away from the troopers. Its main cannons swiveeled around, trying to keep the scout walkers in their sights. It fired, skimming the cockpit of one. _Come on, just a little further,_ he urged, his thumbs on the AT-AT's main cannons.

The scout walkers fired again, the light blaster cannons bouncing harmlessly off the superior armor. The tank, finally fed up with the dancing charade, spun all the way around to catch the walkers along their trajectory-

And exposing the fuel canisters foolishly placed behind the main guns. Veers thumbs pressed the triggers, and the AT-AT's powerful cannons shot like lightning into the tank's fuel. It erupted spectacularly, making it another charred heap on the battlefield.

"Press forward," he said into his headset, and he saw the walkers march forward, clearing a path for the previously bogged down stormtroopers. The Rebel encampment in the mountains was strongly fortified: it had to be, to hide the hidden Sorosuub ships inside. They would finally track them down, after Ozzel and Korast's previous blunders to catch them at Sullust before. The Rebels had a surpsing amount of hardware: this was the fourth heavy tank destroyed, and his scouts and reported they had three more, as well as several much more mobile flash speeders.

 _Then it will be a real battle. One mind to another._ He frowned. In that base, he knew General Carlist Rieekan was directing his defenses just as Veers directed the offense. Rieekan had been one of the Empire's brightest, but had turned rogue inexplicably. Once a proud soldier, now just nameless scum.

"22nd Scout Walker Division, fire concussion grenades into the alcove on your right," he ordered, seeing the little cave's entrance appear. "It may be some sort of hangar." _And if we leave it behind us, they can outflank us rather easily._

The walkers complied, as small explosions ripped the upper lip of the cave, causing it to tremble-

Four bright green flash speeders _zipped_ out of the collapsing cave. "Bring us to bear," he snapped to the driver, and the AT-AT's head swung periously towards the mouth of the cave, where the walkers were caught off guard by the sudden emergence. The cave collapsed, crushing one of the speeders, but the other three sped out, firing their anti-vehicle blasters as they passed. The cockpit of the one of the AT-ST's popped like a balloon, making it topple, while a second's leg motor was damaged and forced it to awkwardly come to the ground. The rest fired wildly, but did nothing more than waste energy.

 _They're heading for the stormtroopers._ "Commander Evast, get your men to cover!" he shouted. "Behind the fallen walkers, stone, anything!"

The white mass dispersed like ants on the brown planet's surface as the flash speeders recklessly came for them. Veers pressed the firing stud, but the flash speeders were coming in to vast. His blasts overshot, and he gave the rebel base a withering look. The other have of the Imperial detachment would be attacking from the south end, but Rieekan still had time to perfectly orchestrate his maneuvers, much to his annoyance.

Most of the troopers managed to find some sort of physical cover, but the rest were viciously mowed down as the flash speeders physically slammed into the indiividuals. It filled him with anger to see the troops so brutally killed, not even in real combat. _Young men do not deserve a death like that._ One of the speeders must have hit too big a clump of troopers, for it's repulsorlifts suddenly backfired and it went flying through the air, tumbling until it landed on its roof in the sand. The surviving troopers fired on it, and it went up in a plume of smoke.

Anti-personnel blasters came from the remaining two flash speeders, shooting from the armored hull as they speeders came back for another pass on the stragglers. He wouldn't be having that. He put his face to the targeting computer and fired another salvo. The third speeder exploded on dead impact, but the fourth was only clipped and still managed to charge forward, to where one stormtrooper was helping another one to his feet-

He bared his teeth. He couldn't fire without hitting the two stormtroopers, and neither could the other troopers. He watched as the speeder smashed into the duo, where even from his high vantage point he could see the fragments of armor go everywhere.

 _In space, it is simply two ships locked in battle, firing away with their big guns. On the ground, we fight the hardest, grittiest battle. And we cannot save everyone._ His fingers pressed the firing studs again and the final speeder exploded as it tried to speed away. The stormtroopers came out of their cover and again ran towards the rebel base's final defense line. His scout walkers had already done a good job ofdismantling the turrets: doing a quick sort of drive-by with the last of their concussion grenades, he could see flames and smoke where turrets had formerly been emplaced. Tiny figures of rebel soldiers moved slowly about, trying to put out the fires.

 _Almost close enough for a final barrage._ On the other side, the other AT-AT walker would reach the base around this time as well. The two walkers would both fire at maximum firepower into the rebel command center at the same time, overwhelming the shielding it had and crushing it with the two blows.

He pressed the comm for the walker. _"Blizzard 2,_ are you almost in position?"

For a moment there was just static on the other end. Which didn't make sense: the Rebels had shown they had nothing capable of breaking into an At-AT's metal hide. _"Blizzard 2?"_

"Ah, is this General Veers?" A different voice from the walker's commander came to him. Bewildered, he replied, "This is him. Who is this?"

"This is Moff Voran, I've been trying to reach you for hours!"

"I've had all civilian channels shut off to focus on destroying the rebel compound," he said, confused. "Is there a matter you need to discuss with me?"

"Yes, I've been trying to notify you your plans have changed."

"Changed?"

"Yes, General. A small pirate group recently stole my custom XP-38 landspeeder and have been about to ship it off-planet. I've already detailed your secondary ground force to take care of them, but I want to be absolutely sure they're caught so I am also redirecting you to their location. You are only forty kilometers away-"

Veers stared at the comm unit in disbelief. "You took my ground troops away from me? In the middle of directing the largest rebel presence in the Bonadan Sector?"

The other seemed oblivious to the shock. "That XP-38 is worth more than even your precious walkers, General," the other said irritably. "I want it back. You have your orders. Moff Voran, out."

General Maximillian Veers looked from the cockpit's comm to the rebel base, which he now understood how Rieekan had been able to so precisely counter him. The two-front tactic would have forced him to split his views in two placed, giving the Imperials the advantage. But there _was_ no advantage. The Moff had ordered his troops away on some sort of _carrier_ mission! In the middle of this vital assault!

"Get me Lord Vader," he said coldly.

"The _Executor_ is out of system range, General," the pilot reported. Veers swore softly to himself. There would be no point in attacking now: without the support of the other half of the battalation, many lives would needlessly be wasted.

And so would their chance to finally the missing Sullustan ships. But that could no longer be helped. With Lord Vader out of communications- and therefore command- Moff Voran was the superior here. And if he wanted Veers to go chase his stupid little speeder, he had no choice but to listen to him.

"Move _Blizzard One_ in the direction of the pirate encampment," he said between gritted teeth. "Inform stormtroopers to return to their transports, and walkers to begin heading out."

 _The Empire is a beautiful thing,_ he told himself, everyday. _Efficient, calculating, masterful, down to the most dedicated stormtrooper who carries out the Emperor's will. But what if those in command are not as dedicated? What if they only put themselves first before the soldier, and make their personal goals the priority ahead of the Emperor's? Lord Vader cannot control every sector head. If we cannot trust our leaders, what will the Empire become?_

It was a question he hoped there would never be an answer for.


	12. Moff Tiann Jerjerrod

**Brief Synopsis: As the Second Death Star's construction progresses, Jerjerrod comes to realize that being in the control of the superweapon is not as glamorous as previously thought.**

 **XXX**

Three Years After the Battle of Yavin

During one of the last meetings of the Joint Chiefs of Staff- the ultimate high command of the Empire besides the Emperor himself, of which he had been proudly apart of- there had been a heated debate over who ought to control the Death Star. Tarkin had claimed total authority, much to the infuriation of Krennic. The other members, besides quiet Yularen and his attaché, had made false suggestions of the entire council sharing democratic control, when in reality it wasn't difficult to see each only wanted it for themselves.

Then Krennic died. Some speculated Tarkin had fired on the Scarif Garrison just to permanently dispose of him with little opposition. The Death Star, from that point, was truly Tarkin's, and the other Joint Chiefs bowed to him like a saint. The pompous, steel-spined Grand Moff now had absolute control. Jerjerrod was reserved in his voice, but it was one of the few times his jealousy got the better of him.

Then the Death Star exploded. Jerjerrod often shuddered at the thought; only him, Ozzel, and Tagge of the original council members survived that disaster at Yavin. Suddenly, there was no leadership, no grand superweapon the Empire had poured it's economy into for the past two decades.

But the Emperor was not to be put off. The Second Death Star was unveiled, to be even more powerful, more resilient than the first. Jerjerrod could hardly believe his eyes when the hunched man had presented to him to build, manage, and control. Jerjerrod knew he should have been honored to have a personal presentation with only Darth Vader present, but he knew why he was the only one there.

Because he was the only one left. Both Ozzel and Tagge had been executed by Vader himself. Of the Joint Chiefs, Tiann Jerjerrod was the only surviving member.

And the way things we're going, that might not be the case for long. There were many things, he learned in the first few weeks of construction, that could go wrong in the building of such a metal giant. Personnel from all over the galaxy was needed. Their family's needed to be held hostage, so the workers would be convinced to hold the superweapon's secrecy. Tools had to be given to those crewmen, and wages to satisfy. To get those wages, systems had to be taxed, shipyards had to be coerced into giving donations. Those shipyards then needed special programs to get the materials to build ships they could no longer afford. But then those materials were also needed for the Death Star's superstructure...

In his inspection shuttle, a modified Lambada marvel that was one of his most prized possession, Moff Jerjerrod surveyed the vast exoskeleton of the Death Star II. It was gargantuan; the _Aggressor,_ the Super Star Destroyer guarding the station while Vader and his _Executor_ attended to other matters, dwarfed in comparison, and that ship along was well over 10 kilometers. Jerjerrod had envied Krennic and Tarkin when they both had their claims staked to the First Death Star. But now, he realized why Krennic had always been so uptight and short in temper. It was such a stressful work, knowing that Darth Vader was continuously inspecting the space station, who had quite the track record with failure...

 _I will not end up like Tagge and Ozzel._ He pressed the controls forward gently, swerving between two normal sized Star Destroyers. He wasn't out here on a joyride; as if there was ever a time for that nowadays. A construction crew had reported a malfunction with their equipment, and needed to be taken back to the worker's quarters for a new assignment while their tools were repaired. With every supply and transport shuttle occupied already- he really needed to get more, another thing to work on when he came back- he had opted to go himself.

He could see the crews now, in their zero-gee orange and white suits. They lazed around on the platform, the crane they had been operating standing still with faint plumes of smoke coming from the reactor core. Jerjerrod hissed softly between his teeth. _This_ was what was broken? Could they simply not lift the blasted plating themselves in the low gravity, instead of wasting time?

 _Skrrrrrrrt._ The impact nearly threw him out of the cockpit seat. He was so distracted with his frustration, he had slammed his shuttle down onto the makeshift landing pad. And now, to his horror, he was paying the consequences.

The landing pad was simply eight large chunks of the metal plating used to cover the Death Star II melded together, and that in turn was connected to the construction pad the crowers used. The jarring force of him landing on the pad shook the construction pad violently, throwing the crewers into the air. The crane wobbled dangerously, the reactor humming loudly even inside the cockpit.

Next, the landing pad simply collapsed from under him. He felt the unease in the structure and reactivated the shuttle's engines, getting airborne before it completed broke beneath him. The construction pad was next to follow; it splintered as the plates came apart, one of them smashing into a helpless crewman. The others swam like fish with no direction, trying to find security in the one stationary piece of pad left: the crane.

The reactor, however, had had enough. As the first crewman landed near it, Moff Jerjerrod saw it burn a cherry red before it exploded. Tiny bursts of light flashed up the winch of the crane, destroying it as it went. But the reactor's implosion was what drew the attention of everyone: the flash of white light blinded him, making him reflexively turn the handles of the shuttle to accidentally slap a crewman with a wing. Those close to the reactor itself disintegrated, while the others were thrown into free space, flailing as their oxygen tanks, no doubt damaged, slowly lost them the ability to breath...

Shakily, he took off his hat. His hair was a matted mess of sweat. The whole incident had occurred in a minute, but he felt as if he had just watched a whole movie of destruction unfold before him. An entire construction crew, dead right before him. _Because_ of him. He had always been able to pin the blame of setbacks on other crew bosses when Lord Vader came around, but this time, how could he?

His comm pinged, making him vomit, thinking it was Vader already coming to see. But no, it was coming from the _Imperator Vex,_ Vice Admiral Rax's flagship. He allowed it to come through, cleared his throat. "This is Jerjerrod. Admiral Rax?"

The other wasted no time. "Quite the mess you've cause out there, Jerjerrod," he commented lightly. "That's twenty-one people dead, you know. All from Varn as well, you know their already squeezed for conscripts. No more young men left onplanet."

Jerjerrod didn't care how the other knew all these small, ridiculous facts. They were planets in service to the Empire, who cared what they thought? This was _his_ neck on the line! "Vader has not returned?"

"No, he hasn't," the other said, bored. "Should I make a call?"

"Don't joke with me," Jerjerrod snarled, he was so terrified. Rax frightened him nearly as much as Vader sometimes: he had been Colonel Yularen's chief aide when the old man had been alive. Since his death on the Death Star I, Rax had soared through the ranks. Some claimed he had personal connections to the Emperor himself, and Yularen had just been a cover. Either way, Rax, had power. Not as much as Jerjerrod, but enough to make him skittish. "Did Vader say when he was returning?" Jerjerrod gasped.

"You have two and a half weeks to find yourself a twenty-one crewers- and a crane. After that... well, we'll see how you fit next to Tagge-"

"Don't say that!" The Moff gulped, looked towards the Second Death Star. Progress was there, surely. Twenty-one crewers shouldn't be hard to find, just another planet he would have to coerce into sending more able bodied workers.

"Relax, Your Excellency," Rax said loftily. "I'll take this matter into my own hands this time. There's no one else better suited for the job than you, after all."

"Very funny."

"You think I want the job for myself?" Rax snorted gently over the line, making the comm blur with static a moment. "These Death Stars have never attracted me, Jerjerrod. I find my talents to be used in much simpler tasks rather than these giant displays of power. No, I will help you because maybe in hands like yours there's a ghost of a chance it won't blunder as badly as the first one."

Jerjerrod eased the craft into his personal hangar, feeling oddly relieved by the Vice Admiral's words. "Well, how could it be any worse than the first one's destruction?" he said, more to himself.

"The Emperor could be on it this time," Rax said seriously. "Don't make me regret saving your skin, Jerjerrod. _Imperator Vex_ out." The line went silent, and Jerjerrod collapsed into his seat, face in his hands. Rax would cover the loss of the crewmen, they would have enough metal to supplement the ones he had just lost. It was only one minor setback, progress would continue...

 _Wasn't I supposed to order something? More shuttles, perhaps?_ He shook his head. _No, there are more important things to worry about. There's a schedule to keep, and time can't be wasted on such meaningless tasks._


	13. Grand Moff Rannd

**Brief Synopsis: In the wake of the Second Death Star's destruction, Grand Moff Rannd of the Exterior Sector finds a glimmer of hope in the chaos after the Emperor's death.**

 **Next one-shot will be the last + author's note.**

 **XXX**

Four Years After the Battle of Yavin

The Star Destroyer rocked with the combined blows of the two squadrons of TIE Bombers deploying their stores on the main turbolaser batteries. His weapon's chief hollered, and the right-side turbolasers slashed through maybe half the bombers, while the left-side only snagged one. The bridge darkened a moment, then the lights flickered back into place, but they were almost drowned about by the large flashes of green turbolaser fire hitting the bridge deflector shields.

Green turbolaser fire. From Imperial Star Destroyers, and not ones captured by the New Republic, if the rumors were to be believed that they had indeed been able to start capturing the feared capital ships.

Grand Moff Rannd, special governor of the Exterior Sector, swore quietly to himself for the third time since the battle had begun. No, these were Imperial Star Destroyers still controlled by other Imperials, trying to destroy him and claim the Exterior for themselves. Judging by their so far weak-minded battle tactics, he hypothesized they were from his neighbor, Moff Getelles. The self-centered Imperial had squirmed his way into the checkbooks of the Corporate Guild, and they in turn had repaid him by giving him control of the Antemeridian Sector. Rannd had despised him ever since, having clawed his own way to the title of Grand Moff since the end of the Clone Wars.

"Deploy our last TIE Interceptor Squadron," he said calmly despite the anger he felt. Not terror: Getelles's forces were in no way prepared for the five loyal Star Destroyers he kept around his capital. Even so, though, the battle had to end quickly. This was the third assault by a different sector head since the Emperor's demise two months ago, and he could hardly keep up the repairs.

 _The Emperor's Demise._ The words felt as sacrilegious in his mind as they did when Mas Amedda had transmitted the dreadful story from Coruscant. The Second Death Star, gone. The Super Star Destroyer _Executor_ , gone. Three-fifths of the infamous Death Squadron Fleet, the best in the Navy, gone. Both Vader _and_ the Emperor themselves, gone! In a few days, the Empire had gone from it's so called "final defeat" over the Rebellion into being backed into the corner by those very same soldiers.

The twelve Interceptors spun out from the hangar of his Destroyer, targeting the retreating bomer squadrons who had foolishly been sent with no fighter cover. They ripped the fatter, slower ships to pieces, much to Rannd's disgust. They were fighting _Imperials_. Not the Rebels- or the New Republic, if rumor was to be held- but Imperials. It shook him to the core of his boots how selfish the Moffs, Admirals, and Generals had suddenly become. Not him; he swore authority the Empire as a whole, and therefore to Mas Amedda, stationed on Coruscant.

Who, two weeks ago, he had lost communications to. Coruscant, for the first time he had ever heard of, had gone utterly silent. And that left him alone. Five Star Destroyers, to ward off the hungry ambitions of his Imperial neighbors, who had so inexplicably turned on him.

"Disperse the defense fleet; wide blanket fire. Have the Interceptor squadron fly beneath our hulls toward the enemy flagship." His Destroyers complied, and the five unleashed a wide, concentrated barrage that pelted the six _Victory_ -class Destroyers that had attempted to invade. They were smaller ships, maybe half the size of his own _Imperial_ -Class ships. They recoiled under the sudden withering fire, their sensors and shields suddenly filled with warning alarms. They would notice, he hoped, of what he intended until it was too late.

"Interceptors closing in on bottom of lead Victory starship, Your Excellency," his Starfighter commander reported. "Orders?"

"Have they maximized their shields to the bridge?"

"Yes, sir."

He nodded briskly, trying to appear confident. In all honesty, his experience with military maneuvers was almost nonexistent. But with his sector defense Admiral having been found trying to assassinate Rannd... well, it was really just left to him and the _Imperial Handbook_ for commanding officers. If this didn't work, he wasn't sure what else they could pull to end the fight quicker. "Order fighters to attack the hangar bay in a first run, and then the main engine bays. Have our ships keep up widespread fire."

The orders were relayed, and he looked down to his tactical screen. The green blips on it showed his Interceptors nearing the red-outlined triangles. Closer, closer... surely this wouldn't work, it was such a basic tactic...

The underbelly of the flagship ripped open like a knife had gone through it's stomach. Fragments of metal and TIE fighters fell out from under it. But before he even had a moment to appreciate the outcome, the entire Destroyer exploded as the engine bays collapsed. With their shields overloaded by the blanket fire, they had obviously not anticipated an attack from below or the rear-

Grand Moff Rannd sniffed. _Clusmy and weak-minded. It's a simple outmaneuver strategy, people! Is this_ really _what the Imperial Navy has been looking like?_

It filled him with a sickness, and he sat in his seat, his pale skin whiter than normal. Here he was, a political governor who had read from a damn textbook, outsmarting supposedly trained soldiers who had been on the field for _years!_ And this was happening everywhere, he knew: incompetent fleets versus incompetent fleets, maybe coming to a draw. Or maybe having one gaining an edge over another, and exterminating or crippling the attacker. Damage wrought by Imperials to other Imperials, instead of the target who was quietly eating them from the inside out, the Rebels.

He had not wanted to admit it, ever. The Rebel presence in the Outer Rim had been large, but his policing efforts were what had made gotten him the promotion to Grand Moff, and made the Exterior so purely Rebel-free.

But it seemed none of that would matter. The five remaining Victory Destroyers jumped into hyperspace, leaving them alone above the sector capital. "Send _Interrogator_ and _Conqueror's Pride_ to the orbital shipyards for repairs," he said from behind his hands. His eye peeked out from the fingers, seeing the _Interrogator_ trying to put out flames billowing inside it's main hull, where TIE fighter had crashed into it. Another series of repairs, another setback for when the Rebels might finally come out to face him...

Klaxons on the ship went wild. He knew that sound: it was the same that had told him the earlier battle was starting. A ship was coming out of hyperspace, and very close.

"Defense Formation Beta," he said coolly, looking at the incoming spot. If Getelles had sent reinforcements, they would be sorely repaid for their treason.

It was not. His mouth went dry as an enormous ship cut across his view, blocking out half the stars. An _Executor_ -Class Star Destroyer, one ship that alone outgunned him four-to-one. He couldn't speak for a moment, feeling the creeping chill of impending doom heading right towards him.

"They're... they're hailing us," the comm officer said hesitantly. "Ship identified as SSD _Ravager._ Hailing you personally, Grand Moff Rannd."

"Put them on," he said, his voice rasping slightly. He drew himself as the holprojector came to life. If it was Getelles, aboard his new toy, he would not give him the pleasure of seeing him squirm. Why should he, anyway? He had stood proudly during his Grand Moff ceremony, when the Emperor spoke to him one-to-one. He would not grovel at the feet of someone far lesser.

Blue, hazy light formed into the half-sized scale of a human. But it was not Moff Getelles. Rannd frowned. He did recognize the other at all: light-skinned, and dressed in the uniform of a Fleet Admiral. _A new contender for the Exterior,_ he thought with dread. _And this time, we can't fight him. But I'll damn well punish that ship of his for betraying the Emperor._

"There is no need to appear so hostile, Grand Moff Rannd," the other said, his voice very posh, polite, intelligent. Not much different from Rannd's own. "I come before you in peace, as a fellow Imperial also serving the Empire proper."

"Is that right," he said sardonically. "You won't buy me into another so called 'reconstruction effort.' If you want to know what became of the first person to ask that, check the atoms scattred around your ship."

"Very rigid and loyal to the Empire," the other commended. "I admire that. But one might think you know when the odds are stacked against you."

"I am aware of the odds," Rannd countered. "But that does not mean I will bow my head to anyone other than the Empire. No pretender to the throne, no false successor, and certainly no power-grabbing Fleet Admiral."

The other smiled at the threat. "Then you agree with me that the Empire has the odds against it now, with the New Republic harrowing us?"

Rannd's eyes narrowed. "That remains to be seen. The Navy is still large and powerful. If only it could regroup under a solid leader, we might be able to strike back at the Republic while their own forces remain small." He shook his hands, the words bitter in his mouth. "But we all know that can never happen. We have all played ourselves for fools. Those loyal to the cause have been looked over by those greedy and ambitious, and we know they will never work together. It is all we can do to hold onto what we have."

The Fleet Admiral drank in his words, looking thoughtful. "Indeed. But even with a large portion of the Fleet, we can still win the war. The Emperor's goal was to have a Fleet large enough to control the galaxy. Even with only fragments of it, it is still a large quantity. Eliminating the competition until all that remains is this single bodied, cooperative fleet may yet win us this war."

Rannd looked out to the Super Star Destroyer drifting in front of him. "You speak as if we are allies. Who are you?"

"Are we not allies?" the other said, suddenly sharp. "I serve the Emperor's will, and only his will. Do you not serve the same thing?"

The Grand Moff imagined the other lifting his hand to his weapon's officers, ready to unleash a salvo on his Destroyers. "I serve the Emperor's Will. Or his legacy, or his Order, whatever you call it. I serve the _Empire,_ as do all my men."

"Then we are allies," the Fleet Admiral said, quickly going back to his casual stance. "I, Fleet Admiral Gallius Rax, ask you and the Exterior to work with me in restoring the Empire. You, who have kept your sector clean of Rebels since the dawn of the war, and held true to the New Order despite it's supposed fragmentation. Together, we can continue the glory of the Empire."

"Gallius Rax?" The name was completely unfamiliar to him, and Rannd knew almost all the Fleet and Grand Admirals of the Fleet; such was common knowledge among the political heads. "I have no heard of you before. Who are you?"

Rax's face glowered at him with sudden intensity; his changes in emotion reminded him very much of actors in the opera. "In time, perhaps you will know. But are you interested in learning who am I, or more in saving our crumbling Empire?"

Again, Rannd looked out to the other's ship. There was little choice he had in the matter anymore. The faces of his officers all encouraged him to say yes. He himself felt convinced by the flowing, honeyed words of the other. He spoke like a politician, but held his authority about him like an Admiral. They were potentially deadly characteristics for Rannd, who knew only one half of those. Right now, he could very well be throwing his lot in with a pretender to the throne, throwing all he had worked for away on the ghost of a chance this wasn't a trap, and Gallius Rax truly served the Empire...

He drew himself up. "Let us work together in saving the Empire," he said calmly. "I place myself as a cooperator in your goal."

"Splendid," Admiral Rax said soothingly, clapping his hands together like a child with a toy in his hands. "Come aboard the _Ravager_ , and we can discuss my plan."


	14. Fleet Admiral Gallius Rax

**Brief Synopsis: At the twilight of the Empire's life, Gallius Rax revises all that has transpired in preparation for a final showdown with the New Republic.**

 **XXX**

Five Years After the Battle of Yavin

The _Ravager's_ bridge lied completely empty on this rare occasion. He had ordered the ship put into standby mode for four hours, so that all crewmen might catch some shut eye before tomorrow.

He also wanted to be alone with the music. He had never had the opportunity to do so on the bridge of any Destroyer, let alone a Super Star Destroyer. The very last one, in fact, in active duty in the dwindling Imperial Navy.

The gentle harmony made him sway in tune to it. The rise and fall of the violins, the light booms of the drums, deep hums of the organ, the majestic voices of the Kaminoan and the Pa'lowick. He hummed along with it, eyes closed, drawing in the sensation into his very soul. The Fleet Admiral's uniform hugged him tightly, the code cylinders jangling like his own instrument against each other.

 _How long have I waited for a moment like this? How long until it happens again?_ He smiled to himself, eyes still closed. _Soon_. _Very soon._

He finally opened his pale gray eyes. The stars were all there, shining from the far reaches of the Mid Rim, the Deep Rim, and the Core. Out here, in perhaps the most distant planet of the Outer Rim, it all seemed very miniscule. When he had been a young child enslaved on the planet right beneath him, it seemed very ridiculous that those stars would ever pay attention to a backwater planet like Jakku. Why would they? All the wealth was in the Core, all the politics and power. The Ancient Sith had sought to control it. The Old Republic had made it's home there, as well as the Empire. The New Republic so far had kept it's distance, but Rax knew it was only a matter of time they were drawn to it's promises, like moths to the light.

But first, they would come to him. To Jakku, more specifically. To square off against what remained of their enemy, the Empire.

 _We were our own enemy. You sought to prevent that, didn't you, Sheev?_ The Emperor was as of now a year and three days dead. His atoms were scattered around Endor like sand on the beach, killed when the Second Death Star had exploded. Gallius Rax had been as close as a friend could be to Palpatine. Telling him when he was wrong, when he was right, with little fear. He had recognized Palpatine as a monster, but also as a necessity to control the barbarism that otherwise would rule the galaxy.

And he had had enough barbarism as a child on Jakku. When Palpatine had rescued him from the planet, shown him civilization, he had treasured it. Still did, as a matter of fact. The organ of the _Secutor Triumphant_ died down in a final deep beat, leaving the bridge of the Super Star Destroyer in complete silence. He wondered if this was he first time if the bridge of such a giant ship had ever been so quiet.

It was the last one of the Navy, at least on record. The _Eclipse_ , the Emperor's personal Destroyer, he had safely secured in the Unknown Regions, where Palpatine would wave wanted it to be with his hidden bases and factories. But the eleven others were long gone. Destroyed and captured. Some by the New Republic, but some by the Empire itself. Many normal Star Destroyers as well. He had manipulated the various Captains and Admirals and Moffs- like Rannd, like Sloane- to obey him, in preparation for this standoff at Jakku. But so many others ignorant, preferring their private, ineffectual wars for power.

 _And it's no surprise it happened! Just like the_ Tragedy of the Noghri Warrior, _we were our own worst enemy_! Truthfully, he had almost expected it when he first learned of Endor's tragedy. He had seen the faces of the Empire, time and time again. Tarkin's ambition. Ozzel's selfishness. Tagge's cowardice. Jerjerrod's indecision. Rannd's fear. All different faces, repeated over and over again in the Empire's hierarchy.

 _I understand now, Sheev. I think I do. The Death Stars- they weren't just meant to keep the galaxy in check, were they? They were to keep your own men in line as well._

 _And now, they've failed. Your Empire has failed you. Has failed itself_

The beginning of a new song started: the Sestina of the Imperator Vex, his personal favorite. But there was no longer any time for that. One glance at the chrono told him his four hours of solace were almost up. And that meant in four more hours, every fighting ship the New Republic had would suddenly emerge over Jakku, to try and destroy the Empire that had inadvertently already destroyed itself.

The bridge doors opened ust as he turned off the music player. The remnant of the Imperial High Command, minus the hopefully dead Rae Sloane, entered. Odbur, Hux, Rannd, and Borrum. All confused as to why they were here, al intent on what he had to say. He suppressed another smile. They all looked to him as their final hope, though he had told them nothing of what was to come. They had invested in him because there was simply nothing else to invest in. With everything on the line, they were suddenly willing to pour everything they had to protect the Empire.

When they should have done it before, to preserve the Emperor himself, not his legacy. Anger welled up inside him, but he swallowed it down. It was no matter. They would all soon be killed in the ensuing showdown: he had purposefully put Rannd in command of the space battle to ensure the Fleet would lose, to punish it for it's failure at Endor. Borrum would have the ground: his old school tactics would prove unable to handle the New Republic's sporadic, constantly adapting strategies. Failure was in inevitable: the Empire would die, here, on Jakku, and would one day be reborn.

At last, he allowed himself to smile, and they stared at him. "My friends," Gallius Rax said gallantly, spreading his arms wide on the empty bridge. "May I introduce you to the great climax of our struggle: the end of the Empire."

They recoiled at his words. Rannd spoke first in that polished, nasally tone he used. "What do you mean, Rax?"

 _The truth, without telling them the truth. You deserve every misstep given to you._ "I mean that our victory here will kill the Empire, and bring forth a new one," he said calmly. The others relaxed: they had started to get used to his almost theatrical performances, to his mild annoyance. "The New Republic will not be able to defeat the combined strength of the Navy, now gathered together."

Rannd nodded vigorously. "As you said before, yes. But, surely you should lead the Fleet? My experience is low-"

"I have great faith in you," Rax drawled. "The same to you, General Borrum." The old general nodded his assent, looking proud and haughty. Brendol Hux and Ferris Odbur looked out the stars, lost in their own thoughts. The nerves of battle, no doubt would reach them.

"Odbur, you will be put to work during the battle," he said with a majestic wave of the arm. "Stay with Rannd on the bridge. The sights of such an awesome Imperial victory ought to fill you with great enthusiasm."

The propagandist smiled with the never-absent smile on his face. "Good thinking as always, Counselor."

 _Ah. I almost forgot about that._ He laughed gently to himself, and hardened Hux looked at him. "And what about me, Rax?"

 _Attitude on that one. A shame he is the one I need._ "You will remain by my side in my special observatory, where I will provide tactical information to Rannd if needed," he lied carelessly. No, he simply needed Hux close to him when they made their escape off the _Ravager._ He anticipated the gargantuan ship would be the prime target of the Republic Fleet; a handy escape shuttle would be needed. He peered out the bridge viewport: the concentration of lights of the Core was gone. The _Ravager_ had drifted to turn towards to the closer Unknown Regions, where inside he knew the birth of a new, more powerful Empire had already begun.

The egotistical Commandant accepted his performance with a stiff nod as he turned back. "As you see it, then."

"Then there is no more need for polite talk," Gallius Rax said in his most powerful voice yet. "Let us hand the New Republic the crippling defeat they deserve, for having dared challenge the Empire in the first place! In one fell swoop, we will turn the tide of the war in our favor."

They all nodded eagerly at the lie, dispersed, leaving him in solace for five minutes until the crewmen returned. He eyes the music player longingly, but resisted. _Soon. Very soon, we will listen again to the sound of the Empire triumphant. Need it be a decade, or two, or three, or a century. The Empire will return after it has been punished, my Emperor. That I promise you._

He left the music player silent, but stared out the bridge for those five minutes, watching the hopeful stars of the Unknown Region go by until a Star Destroyer drifted above the command structure, casting him and the bridge in darkness. The stars slowly slid out of view as the shadow sucked the light away. Gallius Rax watched until all the stars had vanished, then quietly walked off the bridge to leave the Empire to it's fate.


	15. Author's Note

**Thank you for reading this collection of stories, it was honestly the most fun I've had writing in a long time. To that one guy who favorited, thanks mate lmao. To the rest of you who read, I still hope you liked what you saw. As a deeply engrossed Star Wars fan, I took time to perfect each story and make them flow as easily as possible.**

 **Each character here is a canon figure in the Star Wars Universe, one way or another. If you were interested in them, I suggest just searching them up on Wookiepedia, each has some sort of backstory in development. I'll also give a brief explanation of the overarching theme I had going on through these one shots (they're all still completely readable Ion their own as one-shots, so if you're only here for your favorite character don't feel pressured to read them all to understand). If you already know or don't care, than all I have to say is again, thanks for taking the time to read this chronology of the Empire, and hope to see you reading another Star Wars Fanfic soon!**

 **One disappointing thing about the new Canon so far is the apparent weakness of the Empire in dealing with pretty much everything. I can sort of see they want to show just how much more improved the First Order is for their new sequel, but it's still disappointing to see this unexplainable incompetence. So, I tried to explain it myself. Like Gallius Rax realizes in the end, almost every officer explored has some sort of darker motive they're working towards. The helplessness Yularen, Veers and Rannd felt- the only two who had good intentions despite being villains- I felt would be a good comparison compared to the overwhelming signs of greed, corruption, and ambition in every other Imperial, which as we all know, too much of can be the downfall of any great nation. In short, the Empire was only ever as good as its commanders, and as I hopefully displayed here, that was very little good in there at all.**


End file.
